


For Better or For Worse

by Lily (alyelle)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-06
Updated: 2009-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyelle/pseuds/Lily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were hundreds of ways to fix Donna. This is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you happen to have a livejournal, dreamwidth, or other open ID, please consider leaving your comments [at the original entry](http://stowaway.dreamwidth.org/14290.html) so I can reply and thank you. :3
> 
> A huge thank you to [](http://katekat.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://katekat.dreamwidth.org/)**katekat** for the movie poster art. ♥
> 
>   
> 

He looked at the body in front of him, his mind refusing to believe what his eyes showed him. That wasn’t his Donna. Couldn’t be. She was never so still, nor so quiet. His Donna would have been shouting, demanding that someone take this tube out of her arm already, that yes, she jolly well could walk on her own, thank you very much, and for God’s sake, how hard was it to get a decent cup of tea around here?

The figure on the bed, however, remained deathly still. The only sign that she _was_ in fact alive was the steady beep from the machine beside her and the very slight rise and fall of her chest. At least she could breathe on her own, he thought, and that was something.

She was too pale though. Donna had always been fair but the white walls and white sheets had bled into her, turning her the stark white of snow. Only her hair lent any colour to their surroundings. It lay in a halo around her head, a bloodstain, a living flame. He was sure it would burn his eyes if he looked at her for too long.

He leaned down, gently placed a kiss to the top of her forehead. “Don’t you worry darling,” he whispered, “you’ll be alright. Just you wait. You’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll fix this.”

Turning from his granddaughter, Wilf rummaged around in his pockets, searching for the scrap of paper he’d been given so many weeks ago. It was time to make a phone call.

* * *

“What happened? How did she find out? Didn’t I tell you she could never know, that she’d end up like this?”

Frantically trying to keep pace with the Doctor’s long strides, Wilf tried his best to explain.

“She didn’t. At least, I don’t think she knew. It was that bloody Italian, I’m sure. All fancy talk and suddenly she’s on the floor, holding her head and rocking back and forth, screaming fit to bring the house down.”

If it had been under any other circumstances the Doctor might have commented on how many words he’d managed without breath, and where Donna might have got her tendency to chatter from. As it was, he barely noticed anything the older man said. A single word stuck in his mind.

“Italian?”

“Aye. I told Sylvia he was no good for her, but oh no, she wanted any man for her, just so long as it wasn’t you. Well, a lot of good it did her.”

“No,” he whispered, as much to himself as to Wilf. “No, no, no. Oh, she didn’t.” He stopped dead in the hallway, snapping his attention back to the man beside him. “Wilf, think carefully. I need to know what he said, before Donna started- before she collapsed.”

“Buggered if I know, Doctor. Mumbling something about visiting his family, and taking her with him, slipped into that fancy foreign talk for half the conversation and…”

“ _What did he say_?”

Wilf started. “I think… Molten something.”

The Doctor’s eyes closed, his jaw clenched tight. “ _Molto bene_?”

“That’s it! She just sank to her knees and… blimey. She said to call a doctor. Oh, my baby girl, she did it herself.”

“She didn’t. Well, I’m sure she didn’t help, but the damage was done once she heard those words.” He could kick himself; he should have foreseen something like this. “I need to see her Wilf. I need to get her out of this hospital and somewhere where I can help her.”

Wilf looked at him, his expression puzzled. “I thought you… Last time, you said there was nothing you could do.”

“That was last time. I think I may have found a way, but I can’t do it here. I need the TARDIS and time alone with her. Where is she?”

“Just down the end of this hall on the left, but…” The Doctor had bounded off and Wilf stood dumbfounded for a second before chasing him. “You’ll never get her out! There’s nurses in and out of there every five- oh.”

The Doctor held up a hand to silence him. He was peering in through the glass pane of Donna’s room. Wilf put his eye to the glass as well; there was a flurry of motion inside, white coats moving back and forth across the room, flicking this switch and filling that bag. One of them had Donna’s head cradled in his hand and was flashing a pen-torch into each of her eyes, back and forth in quick succession.

“What’re they doing to her?”

“She’s waking up,” the Doctor replied, his voice disbelieving. “But that’s impossible…” Standing fully upright again, he reached into his overcoat pocket. “I have to get her out of there, Wilf. Now.”

Before he could reply, the Doctor had opened the door and was brandishing his psychic paper like a weapon. The nurses stared at him, one of them dropping the clipboard she was holding with a noisy clatter. The man with the torch looked up in annoyance.

“Who are you? And what are you doing in my patient’s room?”

“I’m the Doctor. And- ”

Whatever explanation he had been about to deliver was cut off as the woman on the bed shuddered and gasped. The machine to her left started beeping wildly, its green lines squiggling up and down at manic speed, and the Doctor threw himself forward, pushing the doctor with the torch away roughly.

“Donna. Donna, I’m here. It’s me. Just breathe, you’ll be alright. Please, Donna, just _breathe_!” He’d grabbed hold of her shoulders and shook her in desperation. She drew a deep breath, shuddered once more, and slumped back to the pillow, still as the dead of night.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

“I will ask you again sir, step away from my patient.”

The Doctor ignored the man beside him in favour of the woman in front of him. His hands fumbled about at her throat, searching for a pulse. The machine that she was connected to said that she had one, but he wouldn’t believe it until he felt it with his own hands. “Donna, please,” he murmured under his breath, “come on, please, not like this.” Strings of babble passed through his lips unchecked until finally he found what he sought. It was faint, the barest sensation of movement under his fingertip, but it was there.

“Sir, you can’t - ” He was cut off by a sudden brandishing of paper in his face.

“Doctor Smith. I’ll be taking things from here,” said the Doctor in a tone that brooked no denial.

“But...” One of the nurses spoke now. The Doctor took a deep breath, trying to remind himself why he liked humans. _They’re trying to help her._

“It’s alright, Nurse...” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Kate. Er, Tyrell. Nurse Tyrell.”

“Nurse Kate, lovely. Miss Noble is being transferred to a department more experienced with patients in her condition. I’ve been sent down to prepare her for travel. Oh now, don’t worry,” he made a reassuring gesture, seeing the look of alarm on the young nurse’s face, “she’s stable enough to travel from the looks of things. Although...” he lowered his voice, “I could do with a hand actually. Would you see to Mr. Mott outside? He seems a bit stressed by everything. Might need his blood pressure checked.”

The nurse looked helplessly at the door where Wilf stood, his mouth was hanging open in disbelief, before turning silently and escorting him out. “There’s a girl! Thank you,” the Doctor called after her. The ward’s doctor regarded him curiously for a moment then, satisfied by the steadying beeps that his patient was out of danger and indeed able to be moved, nodded and left the room. The remaining nurses followed.

The Doctor returned his attention to Donna. She was unconscious again but he didn’t want to take any chances, especially not if she’d woken once already. Gently picking up her left hand, he slipped a ring onto her finger, trying not to remember the last time he’d done so. She shifted slightly in the bed, and he smoothed her hair off her face, whispering to her as he did so.

“Hang on, Donna. It’s alright, I’m here. I’m not losing you again.”

* * *

Time was bending in on itself. She knew it was passing, could feel it whizzing by her, but she couldn’t keep track of it; it whirled around her head in spirals, dancing just out of reach when she tried to pin it down. She could hear something beeping in the distance. She’d tried looking for it but her head was too heavy to turn, her eyes sticky and rough. A minute ago – or maybe hours ago, she couldn’t be sure – she’d opened them, just a crack. It had been a mistake. Her vision was instantly shot through with lines of white fire, and she’d scrunched her eyes shut again almost immediately.

She could still hear the beeping, though it seemed softer somehow. And there was another noise; a pulsing, whooshing noise she was sure she’d heard before.

 _Concentrate, Donna_ , she thought to herself. _You need to wake up; something’s wrong_. She could feel something on her arm; it wasn’t painful, just annoying and uncomfortable. She thought there might have been something touching her nose as well. Mustering up every ounce of strength within her, she tried to brush it away.

She felt the tube and screamed.

“Donna! Shhh, Donna, calm down, it’s alright. Can you hear me?”

A pair of cool hands were on her temples, and she felt the whirlpools of minutes gently smoothing out, becoming regular ticks of a clock again. The voice was fuzzy. Soft. But familiar.

“Where... Who?” Her voice was tiny in her ears; tiny and sick and scared.

“Shhh. Please, it’s ok. Trust me.”

 _Trust me._ She’d heard him – it was definitely a him – before. He was still speaking to her; slow, calming words that evened out all the flashing lights and colours around her into a single shade of cream. She tried opening her eyes again.

“Yes, that’s it, good girl. Open your eyes. Can you see me?”

She managed a tiny nod, afraid to speak again and hear that voice that was hers and not hers.

“You’re going to be alright I promise. Oh, Donna. I _knew_ you’d make it! Someone as strong as you, no chance you wouldn’t.”

The man who sat on the edge of her bed was looking at her with what she could only describe as delight, a kid at Christmas. Underneath that though, he looked exhausted. His eyes (and where had she seen eyes like that, chestnut that glowed with a golden light?) were ringed underneath with dark grey shadows, he hadn’t shaved in what looked like a good three days and his coat was rumpled. She’d seen creases like that in her father’s coat when he fell asleep on the sofa all night. His shoulders hunched as he sat on the bed watching her, and if it hadn’t been for the manic grin that was plastered on his face, the glow that danced in his eyes, she’d have bet her life on him dropping off then and there.

He didn’t though. He jumped to his feet and turned to a machine beside her which she realised was the source of all that beeping. Peering at it, he pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and perched them on the end of his nose.

“Mmmm.” He rubbed his chin, studying the wiggling green lines. “Right, well, I can’t see much reason to keep you hooked up to this. Sooner it’s out, the better, eh? Though,” and he looked at her quite seriously now, “I can’t have you up and about just yet. You’re strong but nobody’s that strong. It’s bed rest for you for at least the next week.”

The Doctor busied himself with the cords that attached her to the monitors, watching her all the time from the corner of his eye. She’d stayed silent so far but soon enough she’d start asking questions, and he hoped he’d guessed this right. The tests he’d done had worked but they’d been hurried and on a virtual human biological model. There was no real way of knowing how Donna would respond, or if she’d respond at all.

He turned back to her, lifting her arm carefully to remove the IV line, and allowed his eyes to meet hers again. Confusion stared back out of their blue-grey depths. She drew her breath. He bit his lip inwardly, knowing this was it.

“Who-” she cleared her throat and tried again, her voice slightly stronger this time. “Who are you? Are you my doctor?”

He winced away from the truth behind those words. Closing his eyes for a moment, he told himself again that this was what had to be done. That this was the only way to save her.

“No, sweetheart.” He forced himself to hold her gaze while he answered the question. “I’m your husband.”

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm your husband._ She heard the words replay in her mind, echoing wrongness. _My husband._

“But I'm... we're...” She looked at him helplessly, waiting, knowing any second he'd crack a grin wide as the sea, those horribly familiar eyes would twinkle, and he'd tell her he was kidding.

He didn't. He just watched her and his eyes didn't twinkle. They begged and pleaded and broke her heart.

“We're not married.” She'd said that before. _No, we're not married. Not ever._ “We're _not_.” The last word was a whisper.

He watched her eyes fill with tears and resisted the urge to reach out, to pull her close and smooth her hair and tell her she was right, that he was her Doctor, not her husband, and that everything was okay.

“It's alright, Donna,” he said. “It's alright, I promise. You were in an accident, but I'm here now. I'll look after you.”

“An accident?”

He nodded, gently taking her hand. “Do you remember?”

She started shaking her head, her eyes overflowing now, and he loathed himself for the lie. Fishing a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at her eyes, made shushing sounds to calm her.

“I think... I hurt my head,” she said, her voice tiny.

“You did.”

“I remember _you_. I've seen you before.”

“You have, sweetheart. And it's okay, I promise. You don't have to try and remember everything now.” She was shaking. He took his coat off and settled it over her shoulders. She reached up to pull it closer around her, then stopped suddenly.

 _This wouldn't fit a rat._ She gasped.

“What?” His voice was all alarm; he was on his feet immediately.

“No, nothing. Just, I remember that. I remember you doing that.” She stared at him. “I was in my wedding dress.”

And if he'd hated lying before, he was postively disgusted with himself now. “That was our wedding day.”

“But that's the same suit... You wore _that_ suit to our wedding?” She sounded so outraged, so like the Donna he had known, that he burst out laughing.

“Not without a fight, I can promise you that.”

She sniffled, equal parts confusion, misery and disdain. “I should think not, mister. Pinstripe. Who wears _pinstripes_ at their wedding? I'll bet it looked terrible next to my dress.”

“Actually it looked beautiful.” He sounded sad. She studied him, the man she'd apparently sworn forever to. And something occurred to her.

“What's your name? I mean, I'm supposed to spend forever with you,” and saying that out loud wasn't at all an unpleasant feeling, for some reason, “but I don't... I can't remember your name.” Another tear started slipping from the corner of her eye; he wiped it away with a fingertip.

“John. John Smith.”

The tears stopped abruptly. “I married a man called _John Smith_? Good grief.” He laughed again, stronger and louder than before. She glared at him. “Oh, go on, laugh. You don't have to be Donna _Smith_ for the rest of your life.”

“Oh, Donna, you are wonderful.” He grinned, and kissed her deftly on the forehead without thinking. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks as he pulled away, and cleared his throat. “Er, you kept your surname incidentally. Funnily enough, the idea of being 'Donna Smith' didn't appeal any more before the wedding than it does now.”

She smiled wanly, wishing she could remember. Tugging the jacket around her again, she sighed. He fell silent and settled back beside her, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Her eyes strayed to his shoes, following their movement back and forth, back and -

“Oi.” She bolted upright. “Were we married on a rooftop?”

His hearts nearly stopped. She shouldn't, _couldn't_ be remembering this quickly. The alterations to the biodamper should have stopped it. The amount of detail that was obviously bleeding into her consciousness suggested that they weren't nearly as effective as his tests had indicated. He forced a smile.

“Close. We landed on a rooftop. I was delayed. In – Cardiff.” If she'd noticed the hesitation, she didn't show it. “We had to fly down to London and even then we barely made it in time for the ceremony.”

“What? What was I doing in Cardiff?”

“Well... Actually, I was the only one who was supposed to be there.”

“What were _you_ doing?”

His mind raced for something, anything, that he could tell her. He needed something that wouldn't trigger more memories. Too obvious a lie would cause her mind to search further for the truth; too close to reality wouldn't do much better. He couldn't risk anything until he had a chance to review the readings from the not-exactly-a-biodamper.

“I'm a doctor, Donna,” he began, watching her carefully. “I’d had to go up for a conference; you were going to stay at home, but you came with me at the last minute. On the day we were due to leave there was an emergency and I was called to the hospital. You won't remember, don't worry,” he added, as her brow furrowed. “You've got amnesia. It's temporary, but we have no way of knowing how long it will last.”

“You're a doctor.”

She looked so suspicious he had to laugh. “You didn't wonder at the fact that your husband was taking a drip out of your arm?”

“Yes.” She paused. “No. I knew. I mean, I think I knew.”

“Well, that's good,” he said, hoping he sounded more cheerful than he felt at the prospect of her memory suddenly returning. “You're obviously recovering quickly. In fact,” he went on, busying himself with the machine again so she wouldn't see the lies showing on his face, “I bet you'll be back to your old self in a week or so.”

“Do you think so?” She sounded hopeful and when he turned to face her again, he saw a light in her eyes that hadn't been there a moment ago.

“I know so,” he said. “My Donna's a fighter, I wouldn't expect anything less.” He stroked her cheek lightly.

Donna closed her eyes, fighting back a yawn. The hand brushing her face was delicate, cool but not unpleasant. It felt familiar; everything about this man felt familiar. Fingers of black threaded though her vision and she felt her lashes fluttering, fighting the tide that threatened to carry her back to sleep. The hand wasn't helping; it had moved to her hair, and the arm it was attached to held her snug against ... John.

“S'wrong,” she murmured, and he stopped stroking, lifted her chin towards him.

“What is?”

“Your name. John, it sounds wrong. What did I call you?”

He said nothing for a moment, wondering how close to remembering she really was. Better to have a small truth from him than the whole lot from a memory. Pulling her back against him, he resumed his ministrations.

“You call me Doctor,” he said softly.

 _Doctor_ , she thought hazily and her mind whispered _yes_ as she fell asleep.

* * *

“Her husband?” There was cold fury in her voice.

“Sweetheart - ”

“Her _husband_? You let that... that _man_ tell her they were _married_?”

Wilf cringed slightly. “He had to. It was the only way.”

“But she can’t know! You heard what he said the last time, she’s not allowed to know anything about him or... she’ll...”

Sylvia’s voice trembled slightly on the last words and Wilf could see just how frightened she was underneath the mask of anger. She wouldn't, couldn’t, trust the Doctor. Especially not when it came to Donna.

“She was dying,” he said gently. “The Doctor is her only hope. He can fix this.”

“He couldn’t before,” she snapped. “What’s changed now?”

Mercifully the doorbell spared Wilf having to find an answer for that particular question; he wasn’t sure that he understood himself what the Doctor had garbled down the phone at him. As he walked to answer the door, her voice trailed after him. “If you think I’m letting my daughter anywhere near that man - ”

“‘That man’ is the only chance of survival your daughter has, Mrs Noble.” The Doctor’s voice was hard and unforgiving. He looked at her for a long moment before continuing. “She was stronger than you or I or anyone gave her credit for. She’s on the verge of remembering and no other doctor will be able to help her if she does. Like it or not, she needs me. _You_ need me.”

She sniffed disdainfully. “And what exactly can you do now that you couldn’t before, might I ask?”

The Doctor shifted slightly on his feet, wondering the same thing himself. It would be easier if he had a definite idea of how the biodamper was working, and what Donna’s hypermolecular readings showed. As yet he’d had no chance to do anything beyond a basic screen in the TARDIS hospital bay. More complex testing would require either a lengthy excuse on his part or deliberately rendering her unconscious for a few more hours. Neither seemed a particularly attractive prospect just now.

Shaking his head slightly to clear it, he returned his attention to Donna’s mother. “Your daughter’s brain has undergone severe trauma. The mindblock I created was strong enough to protect it by containing her memories, for a time. I warned you that even the slightest mention of something connected to me, to us... Something triggered it and that block dissolved. Her body’s natural reaction was to create one of its own; in some ways it’s stronger but it’s also much more susceptible to outside influences.”

“What exactly do you mean?” asked Sylvia, her eyes narrowing as she tried to comprehend the string of babble.

“I mean, Donna’s brain is vulnerable to suggestion and will try and make sense of what it’s suffering in any way it can. There are memories of other worlds fighting their way to the surface of her mind, things she couldn’t possibly make sense of with a human consciousness. To try and combat them, her brain needs something familiar to latch onto. Since she can’t know the exact truth about why she remembers me, she needs something partly believable.”

“In other words, you want me to lie to my daughter about you.”

“You’ve been lying to her for a year!” He glared at her. “This isn’t any different, except now you’ll be lying about why I’m around, not why I’m away.”

Wilf took Sylvia’s hand, inwardly begging for her to see reason. “He has to do this sweetheart, surely you can see that? And anyway, he’ll bring her back soon enough – our Donna, the way she was, not the way she’s been this year past.”

“She was different with him, Dad.”

“She was better with him.” He tucked a finger under her chin. “Eh? Come on, you saw it. She was happy. Happier than she’d’ve been with that Lance, anyway. I know my Donna, and she would’ve wanted this. All she wanted was to find him again,” he gestured toward the Doctor, “she’d never forgive us if we took that from her.”

His last words cut the Doctor to the core, his hearts positively stinging with self-recrimination.

Sylvia took a deep breath, her eyes flicking between her father and the man Donna had made so much of. “Fine,” she sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly in defeat. “But if you - ”

“I won't.” The Doctor cut her off, knowing exactly what she was gong to say. He'd have said the same in her place. “You can hate me all you like, Mrs Noble, but believe me, I would never harm your daughter.”

She studied his face. His eyes might be small and beady ( _and alien_ , her mind whispered) but they were truthful. “Not deliberately, anyway” she said softly, and he allowed the rebuke. It was no more than he deserved. “Where is she now?”

“In the TAR- er, car.” He turned to Wilf. “Would you help me bring her inside?”

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Donna stretched, feeling as though she’d been curled up in a ball for days. She pushed her toes out in a straight line, but kept her eyes closed, unsure of what she might see this time she opened them. Her mind felt hazy, dreamlike, and she’d half-convinced herself that that was all this was, just some dream brought on by slightly too much champers, when she heard a naggingly familiar voice.

“Afternoon, sleepyhead.” 

She opened her eyes, stifling a groan. There was a face grinning down at her, boyishly charming and surrounded by dark hair that stuck out in at least ten different directions. His eyes were less serious than the last time she remembered looking into them, but still concealed an oppressive weight behind their caramel sparkles.

“Afternoon?” Her voice was raspy and she cleared her throat as she sat up.

“Two fourty-three pm, to be precise.” He sat down beside her, his forehead crinkling. “How do you feel? Is your head alright? Perhaps - ”

“My head would probably be a lot better without the chatter.” She smiled as she said it though, watching closely to make sure he understood it was a joke. One side of his mouth twitched up a little higher.

“Point taken. Still. Can I, er, can I get you anything? Water? Lunch? Well, late lunch now, but you should - ”

“Tea.” She tried to stand, managed a brief wobble and sat herself back down probably a shade too quickly for anyone watching to believe it was a planned movement. “Just tea,” she breathed, closing her eyes against the lights that suddenly flashed across her vision.

“Right, yes. Tea. Antioxidants!” He practically sprinted out of the room and she breathed through the dizziness, keeping her eyes closed. Clearly not a dream then. Exhaling deeply, Donna opened her eyes again and looked around more slowly this time.

The steely machines and bright lights she’d expected were actually a cream couch, strewn with clothing, a few strategically placed antique lamps and a large round rug at the foot of the bed she sat on. Her own bed. Shakily she stood again, this time holding onto the bedknob for support. That was her bookcase, its contents stacked haphazardly, and she remembered she’d been cleaning it at some point in a vaguely distant past. Restacking. Sorting. Then – nothing. Dimly she tried to recall what had stopped her finishing the job; her thoughts were interrupted before they got very far by the door opening again.

“Doctor.” The word was out of her mouth before she realised what she’d said, and she began a stammered apology. “John, I mean.”

He laughed, passing her the cup of tea. Gratefully she sank into the sofa beside the bookcase. “It’s all right. You really do call me Doctor.”

“S’a funny sort of nickname though.”

“Yeah, well.” He watched as she sipped the tea. Aside from a bit of bleariness in her eyes and being slightly paler than her usual alabaster, Donna looked far better than she had for the past few days.

“Why do I call you that?” 

“I’m... That’s a good question.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling his fringe out into an eleventh direction. “I suppose its because you were introduced to me as a doctor long before you knew me personally.”

“How did I – did you - ” 

She might not be sure quite what she was asking, but he’d at least prepared for this with Sylvia and Wilf. He sat beside her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I treated your father.”

“Oh.” She thought about that carefully for a second. “I don’t... When? How long ago? It feels like forever and yesterday all at once.” She shook her head in frustration, as though to clear it and he could see the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes. Gently, he wrapped an arm around her back.

“Shh. This happens with amnesia. It’s not your fault.” The grimace faded from her face as he rubbed small circles in her back. He spoke again, more softly. “Two and a half years ago. He... He's been gone eighteen months.”

She closed her eyes briefly, feeling an all too memorable pain stab through her. She took another sip of tea; the warmth spread into her limbs, soothing and waking her at the same time. “And when did we...?”

“Almost two years ago. Christmas Eve, 2006.”

She grinned at that. “I always hated Christmas.”

“I remember. Donna Noble, creature of warm climates. How’s the tea?”

“Good.” She sat back, letting it rest in her lap, and looked around. “This is my room.”

“Well spotted.”

“No, I mean – it’s all mine. There’s nothing of yours here.”

He followed her gaze around the room. “No. Well, we don’t live here, no reason why there should be.”

“Oh.” She looked momentarily surprised, then frowned. “No. Of course we don’t. I mean, why would we? You’re a doctor, you’ve probably got some fancy house out in the country like that Pemberley thing Mr. Darcy lived in and - ” She stopped, catching his look of bewilderment. “What?”

“Mister who?”

“Mr. Darcy. Oh no,” she gaped at him, “tell me you haven’t got through two years of marriage to me and still don’t know who Mr. Darcy is?”

“I can promise you that in the last two years I have never once heard you mention a Mr. Darcy.”

She jumped up, barely remembering to set the teacup aside as she did so. “Ohhh, buckle up then, Doctor man. I know I have it somewhere...” She started pulling things at random off the bottom shelf of the bookcase, shouting in triumph a minute later, “aha!”

He pulled back as she thrust a plastic box at him. “Pride and Prejudice,” she exclaimed. “BBC. Colin Firth. Lovely.”

He sat silently, bemused, watching as she gathered up a blanket, took back the dvd and sashayed out of the room, presumably to find the nearest free television.

* * *

The Doctor stretched, taking care not to disturb the figure who lay to his side, snuffling gently in her sleep. She'd started the film late, having had to get through Sylvia's questions about how she felt, was she sure it alright for her to be up and about so soon, and hadn't she better at least have something to eat and drink. Two glasses of water, a light lunch and a cup of tea later, she'd managed to assure her that yes, she was perfectly allowed to lie on the couch watching telly, only to drift off just after Darcy had told Elizabeth Bennett of her sister's marriage to Mr. Wickham. The Doctor had been enjoying himself rather too much to stop the dvd; he'd only meant to finish the episode but found himself positively enthralled. He'd always meant to read Jane's work – she'd been such a lovely woman, after all, and always ready for a chat and a cup of tea – but in between trying to finish off Agatha's books and that small problem of saving the universe every so often, he'd never quite found the time.

Donna murmured slightly, and he wondered whether he ought to move her back upstairs. Glancing at his watch (mercifully the TARDIS had found him one that adjusted its timezone automatically), he decided better of it. It was late but not quite late enough to ensure Sylvia was sleeping, and he couldn't risk the delay if she stopped him to fuss over Donna again. Besides, she looked decidedly peaceful lying there. Red curls wandered errantly over her face, her hand was curled into a fist and tucked up under her chin.

Quietly getting to his feet, he brushed his fingertips across her forehead before pulling the creamy blanket that covered her legs up over her. “Sweet dreams, Donna,” he whispered. He listened for a moment and, satisfied that he could hear no signs of movement, slipped through the kitchen door and out into the night.

* * *

He was already waiting by the time he got there, half-hidden in shadow by the doorframe of the house. The Doctor took the stairs two at a time, anxious to get this over with and get back before Donna stirred again.

“You're late.” 

“Never mind that. Did you find it?”

The figure took a step towards him; as he did so, his face lost the sinister aspect the shadows cast, revealing a skinny youth who looked a couple of years younger than he probably was. He brandished a paper packet in the Doctor's general direction.

“Yeah. Took a bit'a lookin', but I said I had the whole of it, din't I?” He folded his arms, a satisfied (and vaguely smug, the Doctor thought absently) grin crossing his face.

Rifling through the contents of the packet, the Doctor sighed. The boy's work was perfect, no doubt about it. He tucked it under his arm.

“If I ever needed any more of these - ”

“Just send a message, you know how to find me.” The boy studied him curiously. “Whatcha need 'em for though?”

“That,” said the Doctor, handing over four crisp fifty pound notes, “is a question best not asked.”

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

“Donna? Sweetheart, are you ready?” Wilf's voice echoed up the stairs, and she thumped hard on the top of the suitcase as she answered.

“Almost!” The lock still hadn't quite caught; she pushed it down hard and was halfway though attempting to kneel on the thing when she heard a stifled snort behind her. Spinning around she saw John leaning in the doorway, watching her with a particularly amused look on his face.

“How 'bout a hand instead of that silly smirk?” She brushed her hair out of her eyes feeling vaguely embarrassed, though not entirely sure why she should be.

“You won't need all of that, you know.” He casually hefted the suitcase up and pressed down hard on the lock, which snapped into place with a smart little noise that she suspected was mocking her. “There's heaps of your stuff at home, honest.”

“And what if my post-coma self doesn't like what I've got there, hmm? Besides, half of this is books.”

“Donna, we have books.”

“Says the man who didn't know who Mr. Darcy was, thereby proving he's lacking in the Jane Austen department.” She huffed, and he couldn't help smiling.

“I have Jane's books. I've just never _read_ them.”

“Well, I want these shoes as well. I know I bought them before I knew you, because Mum and Dad were looking for Grandad's birthday present and kept dragging me away from the shoe stores. Took almost three quarters of an hour to get away and back to where I'd seen them. And look! I clearly haven't worn them.” She broke off, looking back in the bottom of her wardrobe. “Actually, there's _heaps_ of my shoes in here. What'd I do, buy an entirely new shoe wardrobe when I married you or something?”

He glanced back and forth between Donna and the shoes. “I, um... No? I don't think so. You tend to wear those black boots all the time.”

“Black _boots_? Good grief. Why on earth would I do that?”

“Easier to run in?”

“Run?” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling me I _run_ now?”

“Jog. You, um, jog. Sometimes. When I make you,” he offered with a sheepish grin.

“Yeah, that sounds more like it.” She grabbed a pair of silver heels that he thought might have been handy if you ever had to stake a vampire but couldn't possibly have any real function otherwise, and threw them on top of the suitcase that rested on the bed. “I rather think I'll be doing less running and more lunching during the next few weeks, at least if what you say about 'expected recovery periods' is anything to go by. In which case, I'll need those.”

She looked around, trying to see if she'd missed anything obviously important, ignoring the faintly disturbed expression on his face. She was just about to grab the hatbox from the corner when he cried, “No! No hatboxes. Really, you have enough of those.”

“Settle, petal. Jeez, anyone'd think you'd been trapped on the planet of hats or something.”

The look on his face was priceless; sheer, wild-eyed horror that sent her into a gale of laughter before she could try and work out where she'd heard the words “planet of hats” before. Gasping for air, she recovered enough composure to get a few words out. “Oh, calm down. I won't take it if you're that scared of a hatbox.”

His eyes never got any less wide, but the ghastly white pall his face had taken on faded, and he grabbed the silver shoes in one hand, hoisting the suitcase up with the other. “Come on then,” he said carefully, trying to ascertain whether the comment about the hats had sparked any more memories. “Your grandfather will be in the car by now.”

A small frown crossed her face. “Remind me why Gramps is driving.”

“Because I can't.”

“Didn't you tell me you could fly a plane?”

“I... yes.”

“But you can't drive a car?”

“No.”

“Do you have any idea how ridiculous that is?”

“Yes.” He headed for the door. “I don't like cars.”

“Then... how do we get anywhere?”

The Doctor sighed deeply, wishing she wasn't being quite so _Donna_ just at the moment. Sooner or later, all these questions were going to trip one of them up; maybe not him, but Wilf or Sylvia. Especially Sylvia. “You drive us,” he said simply, and began making his way down the stairs.

She watched him go. “Typical,” she muttered and, grabbing her bag, followed him out to the car where her grandfather was waiting.

Everything had been packed by the look of it. Sylvia had insisted that they take some food – a veritable crate of it, Donna thought to herself – with them. As well as her suitcase and the shoes she couldn't bring herself to leave, the back of the car was piled with the books she was sure they wouldn't already have, whatever he claimed, some diaries that she might not necessarily need but sure as hell didn't want to leave behind for her mother to stumble upon in one of her cleaning frenzies, and a bunch of dvds she'd discovered John hadn't heard of and probably needed to be educated about (alright, perhaps he didn't need to be educated about Harry Potter, but there was something exciting about the prospect of another world, of magic and mystery and enchantment, that had grabbed her attention when she'd done the last minute scan of the living room, and in the end she'd just thrown it in, childishness be damned). She dumped her handbag into the back of the car, and climbed in after it.

“Is the house ready?” Wilf asked hesitantly, his eyes on Donna at the car. The Doctor nodded.

“I've unpacked everything from the TARDIS to an approximation of how she might remember it. Her bedroom is identical to what it looked like on board, so even if she does start remembering something, there'll be nothing to really aid the memory. Even the house is quite similar to the inside of the TARDIS. Sarah Jane's doing.” He smiled ruefully. “Or maybe the TARDIS', now that I think about it. I don't remember her having all those long corridors before... Never mind,” he added, seeing the look of confusion that crossed Wilf's face. “It's fine. She shouldn't notice anything different.”

“And if she does?”

“She won't.” His face was deadly serious. “She can't. I'll make sure of it.”

“Oh, for pity's sake you two, come _on_!” Donna sounded exasperated, and when he turned, the Doctor saw her head half out the window, glaring at them. “Honestly, and you complain about how long I take to get going.”

Wilf grinned. “I'd say that's our cue.” He began to walk towards the car, and then stopped, turning back to the Doctor. “Listen, Donna's... she seems alright now, but she's scared. She's been the same her whole life. Brave face on the outside, but inside she's a little girl still, and she'll be confused. Terrified that she can’t work out what’s going on.”

“I'll take care of her, Wilf,” the Doctor said softly, his eyes on the redheaded woman in the back of the car. “I promise.”

“I know. Just... do me a favour, yeah? Sit back there with her this morning. She'll need you.”

An hour later, as Wilf saw Donna's hand slowly reach for the Doctor's in the rearview mirror, he smiled. His little girl had never changed.

* * *

“I thought it was smaller?” Donna observed the house critically. “I mean, not that I’m complaining, not at all. Just... I know it sounds mad, but I keep getting flashes of - oh, manor house inside, tiny box outside.” 

The Doctor eyed her curiously. This, along with that hat comment from earlier, was starting to worry him. “No, it's always been this big. You must be thinking of someone else's place.”

“Must be,” Donna said softly, stepping up onto the front terrace. He followed her, fiddling with a bunch of keys. A soft “ha!” escaped his lips as the heavy wooden door swung open, and he proffered his arm.

“Coming in?”

She peered into the house, a faint annoyance that something was wrong nagging at the back of her thoughts. It was huge, there was no other word to describe it. The hallway opened out onto a large sitting area, decorated in gold; she was sure she could only see half of it. Off to the back of the room she could see another hallway that appeared to have no end. That seemed right but...

“It's very dark,” she said uncertainly. Yes, that was it. Too dark. She remembered the rooms glowing, a soft golden light that had shone out from every direction.

He groped inside the doorway, and suddenly the hall was alive with colour. A hazy glow came from fancy black wall sconces, and she banished the unfounded worry from her mind. _Silly, Donna_ , she thought to herself. _Of course it's dark. Not like he's going to go away and leave all the lights burning, is it?_

“Go on, then,” he said, gently. “Make yourself comfortable. I'll just help your grandfather bring everything in.”

She nodded slightly, wandering down to the sitting room. It was gorgeous, like something from a dream or, at the very least, a museum of French history. The furniture was a dark, rich wood that she guessed was mahogany, etched with fantastic detail, and covered in red and gold brocade; they were obviously antique. The coverings had worn with the passage of time but, as she noticed when she sat delicately in one of the armchairs, they were still terribly soft and comfortable.

Glancing around, she thought that whoever had decorated the room must have had exquisite taste. The red and gold of the brocade was repeated in the curtains, which hung in swathes of blood-red velvet, fastened with gold ties. Black sconces identical to those in the hallway were positioned at regular intervals around the walls; from the centre of the ceiling an enormous gilt chandelier hung down. The low table in front of her, the bookcases, the mantle over the fireplace – all seemed to be made from the same gleaming mahogany wood as the chairs.

Settling back, she noticed a cream album on the table, the spotless newness shining out from its antique backdrop. As she picked it up, a decidedly apprehensive feeling came over her, though she couldn’t have said why. She held her breath, listening to her grandfather’s voice drift down towards her. It sounded like they’d managed to get everything in, though they didn’t seem to be making their way towards her at all. After another moment of listening, she returned her attention to the album on her lap, gently folding open the cover.

And she gasped.

The photo inside was of her, dressed in white and pearl, a silver comb tucked into the half of her hair that had been swept up, holding a veil in place. A wedding photo.

Turning the pages, she saw more images of herself – one standing by a punch bowl, holding up a crystal flute, another in her father’s arms, grinning like a loon as she danced. One of her in between both her parents, and one with Wilf, whose overtly proud smile caused a brief moment of teariness.

And then her heart caught in her throat, because the face that stared back from the next image was John’s. His hair was tidier and his suit slightly better pressed, but his smile was the same broad grin she thought she could remember but hadn’t seen at all since she’d woken up in the hospital. Turning the page, she saw another one, both of them this time. His arm was about her waist and neither of them were paying the slightest attention to the photographer, just looking into one another’s eyes with matching smiles. Her dress was immaculate, crisp white and he’d been right; his suit did look rather fetching next to it. Perfect, in fact. Donna noticed a “Just Married” sign behind them and wished again that she could remember. Apart from the suit and a vague memory of standing on a rooftop, nothing had surfaced from her subconscious.

Frustrated, she put the album back on the table. Neither Wilf nor John had come down yet and she’d be damned if she was going to sit here driving herself crazy any longer. Leave the boys to whatever they were doing; she might as well have a look around the house that was supposed to be her home.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

After finding a huge library and several empty-looking bedrooms that she presumed were for guests, Donna had given up on the bottom floor and made her way up a staircase that had obviously been designed to match the furniture from the living room. She’d run her hand along the banister as she'd walked, admiring the intricate wood carving, and had not been in the least surprised to find that it was crystal clean and smooth as silk. 

So far the second floor had revealed another fancy sitting room, a smaller library with a gleaming black piano in one corner, whose shelves held nothing but sheet music, and an enormous bathroom with what looked to be original 1800’s plumbing. She’d marvelled at first that it still worked properly, but then reminded herself that her doctor husband probably made enough money to fit out several houses with functioning antique plumbing. It was a vaguely disturbing thought that she put from her mind almost immediately. There had been no sign of a bedroom yet, but as she turned a corner she saw a heavy oak door that looked promising.

A feeling of unease swept over her as she laid her hand on the doorknob, and she reminded herself for the third time since coming upstairs that this was her house too; she wasn’t snooping and there was no need to worry.

It didn’t help much.

Sighing audibly as though to blow the feeling away, she turned the handle. The door swung open silently to reveal a large room decorated in pale blue. In the centre was the biggest bed she could remember seeing, decked with puffy cushions and silken coverlets; ornate wrought-iron scrollwork at the head and foot of it finished off the picture, and she found herself thinking it looked more like a dessert than a bed. Eyeing it, she decided that this was definitely something she must have chosen. She could no more see her spiky-haired husband picking a bed like this than she could see him donning a pink tutu.

Wandering over to the bed she sighed again, this time with pleasure at the springy softness of the carpet beneath her feet. Which, she soon discovered, was nothing compared to the softness of the bed: it wrapped itself around her as soon as she sat down, at once comforting and calming. It was all she could do not to curl up in amongst the pillows. But as she sank backwards her eye caught the dresser across the room, and she was on her feet in front of it before she'd even realised she was standing again.

Warily, she picked up the object that had caught her eye; a photo of a woman encased in a heavy silver frame. Her. She stood in the middle of a snowfield, half turned toward the photographer, her face all but obscured by a thick furry hood. She studied it, sure that if she thought hard enough, she would be able to remember this. For a second she heard the faint strains of music, but the melody slipped away deftly from her mind’s grasp. The face in the photo smiled back at her silently.

Putting the picture down gently, she left the room, closing the door tightly behind her.

* * *

“You look exhausted,” the Doctor observed, studying the blue-grey smudges under Donna’s eyes that had spread over the course of the afternoon. “You should probably get some rest.”

“I'm not that tired, honestly,” she replied, but she rubbed at her eyes as she said it, and he laid a hand gently on her arm.

“You are. Come on, let's get you to bed.” He helped her to her feet, one hand cupping her elbow, the other slung lightly around her back as he steered her up the stairs. 

As they passed the blue bedroom she’d been in earlier, she glanced at him, puzzled. He caught her expression and looked back at the door over his shoulder.

“I... Isn’t that...”

“I thought you might like a room of your own. Just for a while,” he added quickly as he saw her frown. “Until... until you remember me.”

She bit her bottom lip, touched by the sentiment. Apparently she’d married a gentleman as well as a doctor. “Thank you,” she said softly. “That’s...”

A small smile crossed his lips. He led her further down the hall without a word, pushing open a door at the end that led into an equally huge bedroom as the blue one. This one was decorated in familiar cream and lavender tones, the bed not quite as big as the other but definitely as soft, she decided as she sat down. Her eyes closed of their own accord and she sighed, leaning her head into her hands. She almost forgot where she was for a moment, but her eyes snapped open again when she felt a cool hand brush along her forehead.

“Come on, get some rest. Your things are all packed away, and there are fresh towels in the ensuite if you feel like a shower before bed.”

“Thanks.” She stood up wearily. The afternoon hadn’t been that busy – he’d insisted she have something to eat with Wilf before he left, despite the protestation that she wasn’t hungry, and had then shown her around the house and gardens, which she planned to explore in much greater depth as soon as she had the chance – but she realised John had been right. She was exhausted.

He stood watching her carefully, and she felt compelled to reassure him. “I’m fine, really. I think I will have a quick shower though.”

“Right. Good. Well, I’ll – ah – leave you to it.” He bounced slightly on his toes, and before he could leave, she stretched up and pressed her lips gently to his cheek.

“Goodnight.”

He stared down at her for a second, his expression unreadable, then smiled gently. “Goodnight, Donna.”

The shower was deliciously hot but she barely felt it as she struggled to keep her eyes open. She towelled off her hair enough that she thought it wouldn’t soak the pillow through, donned the first set of pyjamas she found in the oak drawers (light blue with tiny white stars, and she squinted at them briefly, thinking she almost remembered them) before crawling under the covers. And then she lay for what seemed like hours, her thoughts circling continuously around the photo of herself in the other bedroom.

When she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of running through snow; of a man in a blue suit holding her hand, a soft high voice that addressed her reverently and a song of pure sorrow. She awoke to darkness, tears slowly making their way down her face.

* * *

_There is room in the song for you._

The words echoed in her head as she stood outside the door, trying desperately to convince herself that all she really needed was a glass of water and some more sleep. Her hand didn’t seem to think so though; of its own accord it knocked softly on the door in front of her. Almost immediately she heard a thump and some scuffling, and the door opened wide.

“Donna.” He took one look at her and ushered her in, pushing her gently toward the bed. She sat. “What’s wrong?”

“I... nothing. I mean... I had a dream. About you, I think.”

“You’ve been crying.” He sounded almost scared.

“It wasn’t a particularly nice dream.” She sniffed, wanting to be anywhere other than here, where his eyes watched her constantly and she never quite knew who she was. The dream had shaken her and she didn’t think she could bear to stay under his scrutiny right now, not even if he was the one man she was supposed to trust. “I shouldn’t have bothered you, I’m sorry. I’ll just go back to - ”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” he snapped. Seeing her flinch, he instantly regretted it. He took her hand in his, delicately, unsure of how far he could go before she’d flee, and began to stroke the hair away from her eyes. When he spoke again, he made sure it was in soothing tones. “You’re not a bother, Donna. I promise. You’re...”

“Just upset, right?” She shook her head, a feeling of hopelessness overwhelming her. “Yeah, I’m upset. I can’t remember you or this house, or anything of the last two years of my life, and everything seems vaguely familiar but wrong somehow. But that’s okay, because it’s to be expected and I’ll be alright soon. Is that how it goes?”

“I was going to say ‘you’re my wife’, actually,” he said, grimacing at the pain in her voice.

She half-opened her mouth, then closed it again. He wrapped an arm around her back, carefully sliding a few inches closer to her.

“You’re right though. It _is_ expected, and you will be okay. But I’m not trying to patronise you, or promise you something that I can’t give. I don’t know when you’ll be able to remember. _If_ you’ll be able to. I don’t know how to help you, not really, and it hurts.” There was a horrible truth in his eyes that pinned her to the spot. “Knowing you can’t remember anything of our time together, that hurts more than you could possibly understand right now. And you have every right to be angry and frustrated, because this – I can’t fix this, and I should be able to.” His hand clenched tightly on hers.

“It isn’t your fault.” Her voice was a whisper, her face ashen. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Please, don’t be.” He pulled her closer to him, brushing away the tears that had started flowing again. “Oh, Donna. I should be the one apologising. In a way it is my fault. I should have been more careful. I should have taken better care of you.”

They sat for long moments, Donna sniffling quietly as the Doctor’s hand stroked tiny circles on her back. Finally, he spoke again.

“Until we get through this, until you recover, I need you to remember this. I’m your husband. And I’ll be here for you, whenever you need me. Okay?”

Her eyes felt heavy, but she forced them open, looked him in the eyes as she answered. “Yeah, okay.”

Her smile was tiny; the confusion she was obviously feeling bled through it and tore at his heart. But it was a smile nevertheless, and he thought that perhaps he’d gotten something right for once. “Good girl.” She rested her head back against his shoulder, and he watched as her eyes fluttered closed again. Patting her on the head affectionately, he scooped her up and carried her to the other side of the bed.

“I think you should stay in here tonight. Get some sleep. I’ll be here if you need me.”

She made no reply, just snuggled into the pillows. Tucking the blanket up over her, he returned to the end of the bed where he’d been sitting before she came in. Crossing his legs underneath him, he watched as she slept.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

Donna cracked her eyes open to a room filled with warm sunlight. A blue room.

She sat up hurriedly, the events of last night flooding back. John’s jacket lay over the arm of a chair beside the bed, a tatty paperback resting on top of it. She looked around curiously; he was nowhere to be seen, and she swung her legs out of the bed, reaching for the book.

 _Pride and Prejudice._ Not her copy either. She almost laughed.

“You’re awake!” She spun around to see him framed by the doorway, a silver breakfast tray in his hands and a delighted smile on his face.

“Just now, yeah.” She waved the book at him. “Pride and Prejudice?”

“I told you I’d always meant to read it.” He set the tray down on the dresser beside the bed. Tilting her chin up to his face, he studied her. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She bit her lip slightly, remembering. “About last night... I’m - ”

“What did I tell you about apologising?” He smiled at her gently. “It’s alright, I promise. That’s why I’m here.”

“Still. I was in a right state. Bet you didn’t think you were marrying a head-case, did you?” she added, thinking of the voice in her dreams.

He frowned, puzzled. “What? Head trauma doesn’t make you crazy, Donna. Well, not always and – how are you a head-case?”

She hadn't told him about the voice she'd heard last night. Mentally berating herself, she shook her head. “Nothing. I just meant – I don’t know what I meant, actually. Still tired, I guess.” She attempted to smile at him, telling herself firmly that the husband she couldn’t remember really didn’t need to know she was hearing voices, even if they were only in dreams.

He nodded, apparently satisfied. “The broken sleep won't be helping. Tea?”

“Please.” She leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes briefly as he poured, inhaling the fragrance that steamed about her.

“Did you want to talk about it?” Her eyes flew open again at his words. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and he passed the cup to her slowly, watching, wishing for the millionth time that this wasn't quite so painful. She took it absently, staring at him, panic gathering in her eyes. He rested his fingertips lightly on her arm. “The dream, Donna. Will you... can you tell me what it was that upset you so much?”

Her hold on the saucer tightened. For several seconds she said nothing, just continued watching him. When she did speak, it was in a whisper, a small, frightened voice that tugged at his hearts.

“I was... no, we, I think. We were in the snow. Like in the picture,” her eyes flicked to the photo on the dresser and he frowned to himself. There was nothing in that picture to remind her of the Oodsphere. _Looks like I've just taken a quick trip to Vancouver_ , Donna had said when he'd showed her so long ago. _If you were going to take sneaky pictures of me, you could've at least got an Ood or two in there._ He forced his attention back to the present, making a mental note to check the other pictures he'd placed around the house as soon as he had the chance.

“We were running, though, and then I could hear guns and... A song. No, not a song, just...” She struggled for a moment, searching for a word to describe it. “Music,” she finished helplessly.

“Oh, Donna,” he signed, remembering her reaction to the Song of Captivity. Taking the teacup from her, he sat it on the bedside table and gathered her up in his arms. “It was just a dream. That's all, just a horrible dream. There are no guns here. No music. Just me and I've got you.” 

Donna closed her eyes again, leaning against his shoulder. For the first time since she'd woken up in that hospital room, she felt safe.

* * *

“Donna?” John dragged out the final syllable and she smiled, not quite remembering why this should be funny but certain in the knowledge that it was. He always did that. Donna turned away from the pond, waving at him. 

“Down here!”

He strode towards her and she knew he'd be smiling that exasperated smile long before she saw it.

“You,” he called, jogging the last few paces, “are way too attached to those ducks.” He took the bag of crusts out of her hand and held it behind his back.

“Am not,” she retorted playfully, trying to snatch the bag back. When he held it up above his head, she nudged into his ribs with her shoulder, refusing to jump for it, and he passed it back to her with a grin. The ducks on the pond looked at them curiously.

“I reckon they think we're mad,” she said, tossing another crust to them.

The Doctor scoffed. “You are. Up at six am for some ducks, instead of snuggled under the covers snoring? What's gotten into you, Donna Noble?”

“Couldn't sleep,” she muttered and then in a louder voice, “Oi! I don't snore. You, on the other hand.”

“Me, what?”

“You were snoring your head off, sitting in that chair. I thought you were going to bust something.” She frowned slightly. “Why were you in the chair anyway? I thought... You said you didn't mind me sleeping in your room.”

“Our room, Donna,” he said automatically. “And I don't mind.” He looked down at her; she was biting on her bottom lip the same way she'd done when she stood at the door in the middle of that first night. And every night after that for a week and a half. In the end, he'd stopped putting her to bed in the purple room, knowing that sooner or later, she'd end up with him anyway. And it wasn't like he'd be sleeping. So he sat beside her, blankets up over his knees, stroking her hair until she drifted off, and then took to the armchair beside the bed, night after night, trying to work out how he was going to fix this. Three weeks had passed and he'd found nothing that helped even slightly. Donna still dreamed of snow and guns and Oodsong, though thankfully she hadn't worked out what the latter actually was. Donna panicked at little things for reasons she couldn’t explain. Donna had black shadows under her eyes that he knew were his fault, and he hated himself for it.

But Donna was Donna – strong, and warm, and wonderful. If the lie he'd told her still played on her mind, she didn't show it. She'd slipped into the role of his wife as though she'd been born to it, and when she teased him over breakfast or insisted that he fold his trousers rather than just chuck them on the chair because she didn't feel like ironing them again, thank you _very_ much, he couldn't help but feel that he'd stolen something when he whisked her off into space and time in the TARDIS. She'd have made a beautiful wife.

He shook his head clear of that thought; it wasn't why he'd come down here. Dwelling on who Donna might have been wasn’t going to help either of them. 

As she threw the last of the crusts to the ducks, he wrapped an arm about her, knowing she wouldn't like what he was about to suggest. He forced himself to say the next words evenly, hiding his worries at the very back of his mind. “Will you come with me to work today?”

“Why?” 

“I want to run some tests.”

“On my head, you mean? Why? What's wrong?” He tightened his arm slightly, willing her silently to stay calm.

“Nothing, nothing's wrong. I promise. I just want to – do you know what an MRI is?”

“Big machine, yeah? Takes an X-ray of your head? I saw it on Grey's Anatomy once.”

“Yes, that's basically it. I want to do something similar. Except instead of a 'big machine', all I'll be doing is connecting a pulse pad to your temples, to measure your brain waves.”

“What's that going to do then?”

He sighed. “I don't know. Well, it's not going to _do_ anything by itself. But it will – or should – give me an indication of your conscious brain patterns, which might help me to determine when you're going to start remembering.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” Something in his face made her stop, and she found herself continuing. “Is there more?”

He gritted his teeth. “I'd also need to compare your unconscious brain patterns, to see how it responds to certain stimuli. Which means you need to be unconscious.”

“Like an anaesthetic?”

“Yeah.”

“But it's safe?”

He drew a deep, shuddery breath. “It should be. But there's no way of knowing how your brain might react to certain... things. Memories that I'd be trying to evoke. There's a chance, a very small chance,” he emphasised the words as her eyes widened, “that you could slip back into a coma.” _Or worse_ , his brain whispered, but he shushed it violently. _She won't remember. I won't let her._

Donna turned from him, her mind reeling. A coma. Unconscious. The words echoed around her head, rattling, making her sick to her stomach. She clenched her fingers tight around the empty bread bag.

“Do you have to?” She couldn't look at him, but she felt his hands resting on the top of her shoulders and knew without looking that he was feeling as bad as she was.

“No. But I'd like to. Because there's always a chance - again, a very small chance but still a chance - that you could slip into that coma anyway. If your brain decides that it's remembered too much too soon, and that it can't cope, that's your body's first defence mechanism.” He prayed that watching Grey's Anatomy hadn't enlightened her as to the aftermath of brain trauma, because she'd soon spot that lie for what it was.

Donna sighed deeply, forcing herself to meet her husband's eyes. Big brown pools of sadness and remorse and – something underneath that. Something that told her he'd protect her, no matter what. Something that calmed the sick feeling in her stomach.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

He kept his arm wrapped about her waist as he led her back up to the house, hoping that her trust in him wasn't entirely misplaced.

* * * 


	8. Chapter 8

The building loomed large in front of her, great spans of steel and glass stretching across her entire field of vision. Donna stood at the bottom of the concrete stairs clutching her husband's hand tightly. 

“You work _here_?”

“Yep!” he answered cheerfully.

“Looks like one of those top-secret government buildings,” Donna said, glancing up at the towering structure, and missing the vague look of alarm that flitted across the Doctor's face. She shuddered suddenly.

“What, what's wrong?”

“That.” She pointed at window washer suspended halfway up. “I hate those things. Make me all... ugh. I just hate them.”

The Doctor slipped an arm around her protectively, remembering the Adipose fiasco all too clearly. “Well, you're not a window washer, so you don't have to worry,” he murmured gently. He steered her away from the hanging platform, up the stairs. “Come on then. We'll get this over with and then I'll take you out somewhere posh for lunch. Deal?”

She smiled, but left her fingers twisted into his. “Deal.”

The heavy glass doors swung open onto a reception area decorated in cream and gold. John led her past the receptionist, whom he smiled at briefly, into a long beige corridor full of closed doors. “Consulting rooms,” he said when she shot him a puzzled look. “We're after the testing area. Can never find my way through these blasted – aha!” He stopped suddenly beside a door that looked decidedly out of place. It might have fitted in at Alcatraz, Donna thought, but a doctor's surgery? She watched him press numbers on a keypad at lightning speed; a few seconds later the door slid back into a wall cavity.

Donna felt her eyes widen. In front of her was a room the size of an aircraft hangar, gleaming steel surfaces and computers _everywhere_. People in white coats hurried between desks, sometimes stopping to tap onto a screen or adjust something. 

“Oi,” she said slowly, turning to where John stood with a rapt grin, “what sort of doctor are you exactly?”

He laughed. “Neurologist,” he said, and added, “I wondered how long before you'd ask that.”

“Neur – I married a _brain surgeon_? Bloody hell, Mum must love you.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Not overly,” he said, grimacing slightly. “At least, not last time I checked. Come on, I'll - ”

“Doctor!” A joyous shriek cut off whatever he'd been about to say, as a young woman in a long white coat bounded up to him. “God, it's been ages. How _are_ you? Still skinny I see. And...” The girl trailed off, her eyes alighting on Donna in what she looked almost like horror.

“Donna?”

“That's me,” she agreed, shifting uncomfortably under the sudden scrutiny. “Sorry, have we - ”

John's hands slid over her shoulders. “Donna, this is Martha. Dr. Martha Jones. You met before the accident. Just the once. Martha, you remember my wife, don't you?” He stressed the last two words slightly, staring hard at her over Donna's shoulder, willing her to understand.

“Your... yes, of course,” Martha replied. He mouthed a silent 'thank you' at her. 

“Martha's our neural, ah, paediatric specialist,” he continued.

“Paedi- ohhh,” sighed Donna, a blissful smile lighting up her face. She didn’t seem to notice Martha's sudden coughing fit, and the Doctor thanked whatever universal force had engineered that. Until she spoke again. “I'd love a baby.” 

Donna felt John's grip on her shoulders clench. When she turned, he was dead white. “Doctor?” He stared at her, blinking furiously, and then she realised that, despite what she’d just said, she had no memory of ever discussing children. With anyone. “Oh, god. I mean... I don’t...” She trailed off, confusion and misery washing over her. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she mumbled her apology to the floor. “I’m sorry. I should have... I thought I did, for a second. But if we’re not... I don’t remember.” 

“Oh, Donna.” His arms slipped around her, the sorrow on her face stabbing at his hearts. “Sweetheart, it’s alright. Come on, look at me. We just... haven't really talked about it yet. This job, it's not exactly ideal for children. The travel and everything. I think we both thought it might be better to wait.”

The Doctor watched, knowing that somewhere deep inside, Donna's brain was trying to make sense of this as best it could. His hearts stung again at the thought of what he was putting her through, and he pulled her close. “It's alright,” he repeated, whispering into the top of her hair. “We can talk about this later, okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, drawing a shuddery breath. He smoothed her hair down and returned his eyes to Martha, who had watched the exchange in stunned disbelief. “You weren't in last time I was here,” he said, choosing his words carefully. His call to Jack a few days ago notwithstanding, it had been months since he'd even contacted Torchwood, and contrary to the opinion his blasé entrance might have given, he'd only been inside this neural research centre once before.

“Oh, I've been working across departments,” Martha replied, just as carefully, well aware that there was a perfectly good reason for the Doctor's behaviour, and that it probably had a great deal to do with the woman who was clinging to his hand in abject misery. “You know how it is with... paediatrics.”

She was going to kill him for that, he thought.

“Anyway, we'd love to stay and chat but we've actually got to be pressing on. Donna needs a few quick tests and – oh.” He realised this might be a whole lot easier than he'd originally thought. “Actually, you might be able to help me.” He glanced around; there was a tea area somewhere nearby, he was sure. Yes, in that corner. “Donna, why don't you pop over there – just into that corner, see the glass table? - and grab yourself a cup of tea? And I'll explain to Martha what sort of tests we need to do. She's very good with sedative processes.”

Donna followed his finger. There was indeed a glass table, and an enormous comfortable-looking sofa with a tea urn and an assortment of white jugs to one side. “Alright,” she said, quite relieved to be rid of the scrutiny for a few minutes. Martha hadn’t stopped looking at her since the baby comment and John... Donna took a deep breath, and squeezed his hand. “See you in a minute then,” she said as lightly as she could manage.

Thankfully Martha waited until Donna was out of earshot before she hissed, “Paedi- _atrics_?”

“I'm sorry, really, I am. It was the first thing I could think of!”

“Says the ‘I-don’t-do-domestic’ Time Lord.” She regarded him for a moment. “What's going on? You said Donna - ”

“She remembered. I don't know how, but her grandad called me and said she was in the hospital. It's not everything, a lot's still blocked,” he continued in response to her unspoken question, “but she's remembering more than she ought to. I even altered the biodamper so it would block conscious cerebral rationalisations, but it hasn't worked. Well, not as well as it should.”

“In English?” Martha asked, her eyebrows raised.

“I need to find a way to stop however she's putting these pieces together. For that, I need pattern analysis of conscious and unconscious neural activity.”

“You need an anaesthetist.”

“Yeah.” He drew the word out, rubbing his chin. “Can you help? I mean, anyone could do it, but she knows you – well, knew you, at any rate – and I think subconsciously that might relax her a bit.”

“Of course,” she replied laying her hand on his arm. “Are you alright?”

“I’m always alright, Martha Jones,” he grinned, but it lacked something. She sighed.

“Husband?”

“Only thing I could think of.”

“You’re hopeless.”

* * *

The Doctor watched as green and red lines spiralled on the screen in front of him. Frowning, he turned to where Donna lay unconscious on the stretcher, and held a finger to her temple. The spirals grew faster, until they raced around the screen with frantic energy. 

“What are you doing?” Martha asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of wariness.

“It’s not right.” He looked back to the screen, then to the young doctor who stood next to Donna. “This, it’s not right. Her unconscious neural relays shouldn’t be anywhere near that active. The conscious ones were a bit higher than normal, but I can understand that. Aside from trying to work out what we were both doing, she was stressed, and that’s going to heighten motor awareness by itself. But this – ” he pointed to the intermingled lines on the screen, “that’s way too fast. Like something’s... I don’t know. Whispering in her ear, or something. Telling her where every piece of her life goes. And for some reason, I make it work faster.” 

“Doctor, if she does remember... ”

He squirmed uncomfortably. “Neural overload. A complete sensory and motor meltdown. She’ll slip into a coma and then, when her body can no longer protect itself from the manifestation of the Time Lord consciousness...

“She’ll die,” Martha finished softly.

“Yes.” He glanced at Donna again. “I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.” He turned back to the computer console, flicking several switches on. The red and green lines on the screen to his right slowed their circling of each other. Squinting at them, he slid another dial several inches up its notch. The lines flickered, and then stopped altogether.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Ohhh, that’s brilliant! Martha, do me a favour? Get me that ring on Donna’s finger – no, her other hand, the wedding ring. Oh, yes,” he said to himself, grinning at the screen. “And now – ” He looked over at her, manic delight written all over his face. “Martha, there’s going to be a huge blast of sonic energy in a minute. Might be best if you leave the room for a minute.”

Martha crossed her arms. “What about Donna then?” she asked.

“Donna’s going to need a good strong cup of tea. Now, how about you go make it? Good girl!” he called after her as she rolled her eyes and left the room.

Focussing on the still-unconscious figure before him, he stroked her forehead. “Alright Donna,” he whispered, “here we go. Cross your fingers, beautiful.”

He clamped the wedding ring into a copper pincer, aimed the sonic screwdriver at it and closed his eyes as the room exploded in ultraviolet.

* * *

“Listen,” said the figure standing in front of her. “Listen! Your song is changing.”

“My song?” Donna tried to focus her eyes, but the figure was lit from behind by a blinding blue light. “What... what song? What do you mean?”

“The DoctorDonna has returned. The old song has passed, as all songs pass. You have returned to the beginning and this is your song. It is changing.” 

A cold wind blew into her face as she tried to make sense of the words. “The Doctor? Do you mean my husband? My husband, John? He's a doctor.” 

“His song will change also. He will follow you.” The figure turned from her slowly.

“Wait!” she cried, as it walked away. “Wait! I don’t understand. Who are you?”

“We are friends.”

The ring on her left hand pulsed faintly as the figure disappeared. When she looked at it, the violet light shattered around her and she stumbled, crashing down into an icy coldness.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

He slipped the biodamper out of the clamp and, laying it flat in the palm of his hand, ran the beam of the sonic screwdriver over it once more. Brilliant blue light reflected from its curves. The screwdriver beeped, just once. “Brilliant,” he murmured. Crossing to the other side of the room, he picked up Donna’s hand where it lay limp beside her, and slipped the ring back on her finger.

“Mmrrrr.”

“Donna?” He ran his thumb along her cheek gently, smiling as she blinked sleepy eyes at him. “How are you feeling?”

She swallowed, her brow furrowed. “Sore. Tired.”

“That’s the anaesthetic. I’ve sent Martha to get you some tea.”

“Tea. Lovely.” She smiled up at him weakly. “’m I alright?”

“You’re just fine,” he said, taking her hand in his again as he sat beside her.

“Had another dream.” She closed her eyes, her head rolling slightly toward him. For a moment he thought she was drifting back to sleep, but then she opened them, focussing directly on him. “He talked about you.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know. I couldn’t see properly. Everything was blue. But he said... a song. Something about a song. Ending.”

The Doctor's hearts jumped. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” he said, forcing a calm he didn’t feel into his words. “It was just a dream.”

Donna ignored him, gripping his hand tightly. “No, not ending,” she said, remembering the words she had heard. “Changing. He knew you. He called you a doctor. He said you’d... you...” She shook her head. “I can’t remember properly. But he knew you. And he knew me too, he called me by my name.” She paused for a moment. “There was music.”

The Doctor felt the colour drain from his face, a million thoughts racing through his mind, trying to work out what had gone wrong. “Donna, listen to me. It was just a dream, okay? That’s all. A dream, brought on by the anaesthetic, and probably some half-memories that your brain is trying to make sense of. Just relax.”

Donna took a deep, shaky breath. The etchings in her forehead smoothed slightly, and he continued. “Yes, that’s it. Relax and pretty soon it will all come back to you. You’ll see.”

She leaned back into the pillow, her eyes closed, her hair trailing over her shoulders like long red ribbons. The room's white wash reminded him of the hospital bed he'd found her in. His eyes drifted to the ring on her finger as he silently prayed that his calculations were right.

* * *

“Look after her, won’t you?” Martha eyed him seriously. 

“I intend to,” he replied. “The alterations to the biodamper should keep things under control for a while. It certainly seems to have slowed down her dendrital transmitters and the last scan showed a significant reduction in her hippothalmic response.”

Martha raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, come on.” He flashed a quick grin. “You’re a doctor now!”

“I’m not a neurosurgeon.”

“She shouldn’t remember much more, and especially not at the rate she has been.” He turned to look through the window. Donna sat on the stretcher, awake now, drinking the tea Martha had brought in. Her gaze was directed at the computers beside the bed, but her eyes were unfocussed, her thoughts clearly far away. “I better get her home.” 

“Yeah. If there’s anything I can do to help – ”

He hugged her quickly. “You’ll be the first to know.”

She smiled back over her shoulder as she walked away. The Doctor pushed on the door to the testing room, peering around the corner. “Alright?”

Donna nodded. She waved the cup at him. “Yeah. Just about finished. Though...” She looked up apologetically. “Can we just go home, instead of having lunch out? I’m knackered.”

“Of course.” He sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her back. “I’ll bring you up another day. You can have a day of lunching and shopping and... whatever else women do.” He screwed up his nose and she laughed.

“And I’m going to have this day of shopping with you, am I? Oh, I’ve hit the jackpot if I’ve married a man who volunteers to go shopping with his wife.” Her eyes sparkled, for a moment free of the worries they so often reflected lately.

“Maybe you have, Donna Noble.” He jumped to his feet and offered her his hand. “But first, home and rested, yes?”

“Sounds like a plan, Doctor-man.” She stopped, cocking her head at the familiar sound of those words. “Why...” She shook her head slightly, as though to dislodge whatever thought had stuck there. It had no effect. John was watching her curiously. She attempted a nonchalant smile, taking his hand and tugging him through the doorway. “Nevermind. Come on, then.”

She drifted off to sleep a bare half hour into the train ride, but she held onto his hand the entire way home.

* * *

“Can I get you anything?” 

Donna sat heavily on the couch, shaking her head slightly. It still felt very heavy, though John and Martha had both assured her it was only a temporary side effect of being unconscious. “No, I'm alright.”

“If you say so,” the Doctor replied with a grin. He sat down beside her, close enough for her to rest her head onto his shoulder. For a few minutes they sat in silence, then Donna spoke in a small voice.

“I'm sorry. About earlier, I mean. The, um. The baby thing.”

“Donna - ”

“I don't know why... I've always wanted a child. Well, I think, anyway. I must have dreamed I did, but it felt so real and... Oh, just ignore me.” She spoke quickly, her eyes on her lap. The Doctor remembered a night long ago, when his best friend had cried in his arms for two children she'd never really had. He lifted her face gently and tried again.

“Donna. I never said you didn't want children. Or that you couldn't have them.”

“I know. But you – I saw the look on your face. You don't.” She sighed deeply.

“I was surprised, that's all. We haven't ever talked about it. I suppose... There's something you should know.” He took her hand in his, watched her carefully. “You trust me, don't you? Have I done anything, anything at all, these past few weeks to hurt you?”

Donna shook her head immediately. The unconscious response reassured the voices that whirled through her mind, rational arguments that cried out in plaintive tones that she didn't really know this man. _You do_ , she told them. _You know those eyes, deep down. You know the freckles and the stupid spiky hair._

“I trust you.” The words hung in the air between them as he looked into her, his brain screaming at him not to tell her, not to think about what was passed.

“Then believe me when I say I have nothing against having children. A long time ago, long before I met you, I had a family. A wife and a baby.”

She pulled back at this revelation, eyes wide. “But...”

“I was very young,” he continued, swallowing hard. “Probably too young, but I loved them both, very much. I'd have done anything for them. Then one day there was an accident, a horrible accident, and I ... There was nothing I could do. I lost them.” 

Donna stared at him in horror, tears gathering. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't know.”

“I know. It was so long ago.” He closed his eyes, images flooding his mind. The orange sky, the silver trees. The city under a glass dome burning as he looked on, helpless. “Another lifetime. But I promise you, I know how it feels to want a family. To want someone to care for, to love with all your heart. And you, Donna, you have so much love to give. But you need to get well first.”

She bit her lip, unsure of her voice. He looked so broken, so terribly young and vulnerable all of a sudden. Blinking back her own tears, she ran her thumb across his cheek, wiping away the drops that had fallen from his lashes. He looked down at her fingertips, slightly shocked at the moisture on. He brought her hand to his lips, lightly kissing where she had touched him.

“You are an amazing woman, Donna Noble.” He ignored the lump in his throat and the fluttering in his stomach, pushing them both to the back of his mind. “You'll get past this, I know you will. And one day you'll have that family to love, I swear.”

Wrapping her arms around his middle, she nestled into him, afraid that the tears might start again if she spoke. “So will you,” she whispered gently into his chest.

* * *

“Doctor?” Donna looked up at him from her toast and tea with a questing look. 

“Mmm?” he replied, mumbling around a mouthful of crumbs and sticky jam.

“It's probably a bit late to ask, but do you think... Um, do I actually _do_ anything? Like, a job? It’s been about six weeks since you brought me home. Three since those tests, and I feel fine, honestly. So if I’m off work... I wouldn’t mind going back.” Her eyes searched his cautiously.

He chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his lip, drawing his answer out. “Welllll. I can’t see why not. _If_ it’s nothing strenuous and only for short periods at a time,” he added sternly. The effect was ruined somewhat by the grin that crept across his face in response to her own.

“Really?” She leapt up from the seat, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, that’s just... I’ve felt so...”

“Restless?” he suggested, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

“I'd never have guessed,” he replied. “Between the cleaning and the three cupboards worth of baking you've managed in the last week, I'd have thought you were loving being a full-time housewife.”

“Oi,” she laughed, slapping his arm playfully. “Right then, what do I do?”

“Sorry?”

“For work! Where do I work?”

“Oh! Um. Well, see that's the question, isn't it? You... weren't.”

Donna rolled her eyes. “Before I wasn't, I obviously was. The last thing I can remember doing is temping. Glazing place. Somehow I don't think the wife of a doctor temps at a glazing factory, do you?”

“No,” he agreed. “You haven't worked since... well. Since the wedding really.”

“God, what did I do with all my time?” she asked, and thankfully continued before the Doctor was forced to think of a plausible response. “Well then. Better start trawling the papers, I suppose.”

The Doctor looked at her quizzically, something clicking into place in his mind. _If there's anything I can do to help..._. “Oh, yes,” he said to himself. “Yes, yes, yes! Donna? How would you feel about an office job?”

She glanced over the paper she'd buried her head in. “What? What sort of office?”

He grinned widely at her. “Mine!”

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

“Martha, you're a wonder,” he said, resisting the sudden urge to kiss the phone's mouthpiece. “No, that'll be wonderful. I'll let her know. You tell Torchwood you're worth more money.” He laughed at the remark that got. “I can imagine. And... Martha? Keep an eye on her for me, okay? No, no, she's been fine. I'd just appreciate an extra set of eyes. Yes, you too.” He flipped the phone shut with a satisfying snap. “Donna!” he called up the stairs.

No answer.

“Donna?” He ran up the stairs, two at a time. His stomach churned suddenly, a fluttering sense of wrongness filling him.

The door to the bedroom was ajar. Peering in, he saw Donna at the window. “Donna?”

“Mmmm?”

He crossed the room to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Martha called. You can start next week.”

Donna reached up, touching her fingers to his. “Yeah?”

“Mmm.” He grazed his fingers along her neck. “What's wrong?”

She kept her eyes on the window, wondering whether she knew the real answer to that question. “Nothing. I'm just thinking.”

“About?”

She shrugged. Even that motion felt like too much effort to really bother. Her limbs, when she turned her head to look at him, were sluggish, as though she moved through honey. “The trees. The snow. The stars.” Her eyes flicked back to the window and its vista: bare branches covered in frost and the rapidly darkening night sky. “There's so many of them. Hundreds of millions. Gramps thinks there’re other worlds out there.”

The Doctor shivered, more from the flatness of her tone that the words themselves. “Maybe there are,” he said lightly.

“Maybe.” Donna turned from him again, her hands resting on the ledge as she looked down. “Silly, isn't it? There's so much to see and do, maybe thousands of worlds we don't know about and I'm – anyway.”

“You're what, sweetheart?”

She exhaled forcefully. “I don't know. This job. Are you sure they want me there? This isn't just a favour to you, is it?”

“Oh, no.” He spun her gently to face him. “Not at all. Martha was thrilled, says they're desperate for someone to help with data entry. She can't wait to have you in. Besides, you and she got on quite well once.” He squeezed her gently. “This will be good for you.”

She forced a smile. “You're probably right.”

“I'm always right,” he said with a wink.

“And so modest,” she replied drily.

“Perfect man, really.”

“Oh, you're alright.” The grin began to feel more natural again, her worries melting back into the shadows. It was always like this when he was around, as if he were a shining light in her mind, filling her, driving away the doubt and the fear and the sense of not really belonging. She let her palms rest flat on his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath them. Fast, always so fast. Like more than one lay hidden inside him.

She was watching him intently, her gaze locked on his, and a small shiver ran down the Doctor's spine. Donna's smile had always been gorgeous, had always lit her eyes up like a sunset at sea but this was different. They held something more with each passing day, something he knew she’d never have given to him in their previous life. Would never have given to a man who was only her best mate. _It’s your fault,_ he thought to himself angrily. _She thinks you're her husband._

But Donna's thoughts didn't account for the twinge he got whenever she looked at him. Donna’s feelings weren’t the cause of the ever-frequent increases in his pulse when she hugged him, rapid spikes that he forced himself to ignore. Clearing his throat slightly, he side-stepped her, looking down to the grounds. “It'll be properly wintery soon,” he said, suddenly desperate to focus on something else.

“Only six weeks till Christmas,” she agreed. “Or so mum said last night when I phoned.” She moved closer to him, a thought occurring to her. “You taking me somewhere nice for our anniversary then?”

Donna's hand rested on the small of his back, and he jumped involuntarily at her words. “What? Ah. Um.”

She laughed, golden bells of happiness that filled his ears. “Calm down, I'm kidding. Besides, knowing you it's probably a secret and you wouldn't tell me anyway. Though it would be nice to go away somewhere warm. I hate the cold.”

“Donna – wait, what do you mean 'knowing me'?”

Donna frowned, thinking her words over. “I'm not sure. Just... You're one of those men who knows instinctively how to surprise women. I can tell. In fact, I bet you've shown me some brilliant things. I bet we've gone everywhere, and that's why I'm feeling so caged, because I can't remember it. We've done them all, haven't we? The pyramids and the Colosseum and all the wonders of the world.”

“You have no idea,” he whispered. _Oh, Donna, you have_ no _idea._

“See, I knew it. You're a charmer, you are. And a gentleman besides, I suppose.” Donna slipped her arms around him, peering up through her fringe. He was smiling, but his eyes were pools of sorrow. A tiny pang pricked her heart. 

“Women must go crazy over you,” she said quietly. He shifted a bit, wrinkling his nose, and she tightened her hold on him a little. “And you chose me. Somehow. I've no idea why but I love you for it. I mean, I love... well, you.”

The Doctor felt his blood run cold. Donna's eyes never left his, just watched, so open and trusting and beautiful. He couldn't breathe.

“Donna, I...” He closed his eyes, unable to look at her any longer.

He wasn't sure whether he'd leaned down or she stretched up, but for the briefest moments, somehow, her lips brushed his own, and it didn't matter that she thought he was someone else. He wrapped her in his arms, deepening the kiss, losing himself in her smell and softness until she pulled away, her cheeks flushed pink. She smiled shyly, and he said the only thing he could think to say.

“I love you too.”

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

“I'm home!”

Donna's voice rang out down the hall, and the Doctor hastily shoved the sonic screwdriver into a utensil drawer. Dinner was well enough under way that he didn't really need its culinary aid any longer, and he didn’t think any explanation he could give would satisfy Donna if she saw him pointing a ‘blue pen-torch’, as she called it, at the potatoes.

She appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, her arms laden with bags. “Christmas shopping,” she explained, dumping them on a bench and reaching up to give him a quick kiss. He squirmed slightly, his heart skittering in his chest. Since their kiss the other night Donna had become far more demonstrative, as though a barrier between them had been shattered. She slept with her head on his chest, kissed him first thing in the morning with sleepy blue eyes and a blissful smile. It was getting impossible to ignore the thrills that ran through his body when her hand found his.

Donna Noble, the mate he'd travelled with in the TARDIS, would have slapped him silly.

He berated himself silently, knowing he should have thought longer about what posing as her husband would do to her. Of course she was going to treat him like that, thinking what she thought. Especially now that the biodamper was doing its job and suppressing her actual memories for the ones he’d carefully constructed. He wished for the thousandth time that he could find some way of reversing the metacrisis. Or at least return her memories without causing her brain to shut down completely.

“Doctor?” Donna was staring at him, her hands perched sassily on her hips.

“Hmm?” 

“I _said_ Mum wants us to come over for lunch this weekend.”

“Oh, God, must we?” Her mouth opened in a small 'o' of surprise, and he stammered, “I mean, yes. Yes, tell her we'd love to.”

“Could do a better job of pretence, mate.”

He flinched at how much she sounded like her old self. “I just... Donna, your mother scares me. She doesn't like me, you know.”

Donna snickered. “She doesn't like anyone. My mother doesn't ‘not like’ you, silly. Far from it, in fact. She's got a downright obsession lately with asking if I'm pregnant yet.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but his brain failed to supply any words. Instead he settled for gazing at her with a pleading look.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” She shrugged. “I told her we’d talked about it, and now she’s made it her life mission to ensure it happens before the year’s out or something. It's like she wants a baby more than I do.”

The Doctor rather suspected that Sylvia Noble’s sudden interest had less to do with _wanting_ a grandchild, and more to do with wanting to make sure her daughter wasn’t sleeping with an alien. He sighed heavily. “Should I have a word to her?”

“Nah, she’ll live. I'm more worried about Gramps, she's probably driving him batty.” Donna winked at him cheekily, her fingers working their way to the knot of his tie. “Though we could tell her we’re trying.”

He sucked in a breath. “P-potatoes,” he managed, working his way out of her grasp.

Donna huffed at him, rolling her eyes. “Oh fine then, you deal with your potatoes – might be an idea to turn the heat down, yes? – and I’ll go and change.” She left him with another quick kiss to the cheek.

He let his breath out shakily. This couldn’t continue. Stabbing a fork crankily into the potatoes, he tried to think of a way to get Donna’s thoughts away from her mother and babies and their impending ‘anniversary’. The water bubbled and spat fiery little droplets out onto his hand. Cursing, he grabbed the saucepan off the heat and dumped it beside the sink, leaning back against the bench. With his eyes closed, the power of his other senses increased. He could hear the soft clicks as Donna opened and closed wardrobe doors, the water splashing against the tiles as she turned the shower on.

He felt the sudden spike in his heart rate, and gritted his teeth. _She’s your friend_ , he screamed silently at himself. _Your best friend._

But the image of Donna upstairs in the shower, water coursing over her porcelain skin, stayed with him.

* * *

Donna twisted a lock of hair around her fingers, her eyes following John as he fairly ran to the kitchen. She was beginning to regret mentioning her mother’s interest in children; he’d been jumpy ever since, and her suggestion that maybe they have an early night for once had led to his leaping off the couch like a jackrabbit and proclaiming that he absolutely needed a good cup of tea, would she like one too?

She chewed on the end of her thumbnail for a minute, wondering whether she ought to go and try to calm him down. Probably a good idea. If this kept up, he’d be bouncing around all night. She wasn’t overly tired but the idea of data entry on minimal sleep was a less than thrilling prospect. She could remember that much at least from previous jobs.

Unfurling her legs from underneath her, she padded quietly into the kitchen. He had his back to her, bent over the tea mugs intently.

“Can’t read the leaves until you’ve drunk it, sunshine,” she murmured, running her hands over his too-skinny shoulder blades. He jumped as she did so, almost knocking the mugs over in the process, and she stepped back hurriedly.

“What is _wrong_ with you tonight?” she exclaimed, grabbing a cloth to mop up the drips of tea at his elbow. “You’re like a nervous mother!”

His face blanched at the final word, and she stopped dead. “God, is that it? Is it the baby thing again? I told you, mum’s just being mum. She’s not seriously trying to – ” Donna’s eyes narrowed slowly. “This isn’t about my mother, is it?”

“Donna - ”

“Save it,” she snapped. “Oh, I don’t _believe_ you. Here I am, thinking somehow I managed to marry a really decent bloke, and you’re just the same as the bloody rest of them.”

He reached out a hand but she knocked it away almost viciously. “Don’t. Just don’t.” Her eyes smouldered, the blue summer skies now black as midnight. “Contrary to what you must obviously think, this isn’t my sneaky way of trying to get myself knocked up. This is me trying to deal with the husband I can’t remember properly, and trying to work out why I feel like there’s something I’m missing every time you look at me. Why every time I so much as touch you, you shy away from me when I’m supposedly the woman you love.”

She turned sharply on her heels and was halfway down the hall before he’d recovered enough thought to follow. “Donna!” he called, running after her. Memories surfaced, one after the other. Her, flouncing away in a wedding dress. Her confused and bewildered expression as Lance flung razor-sharp vitriol at her. The helpless, lost girl who’d left the Library with her hand in his.

“Donna!” He shouted louder this time, leaping the stairs two at a time. She was just rounding the corner to their room as he reached her, catching her wrist neatly in a deft grip.

“Oi!”

“Donna, calm down and listen to me. This has nothing to do with a baby. Nothing,” he held up a hand to forestall her protest. “You’re tired and – ”

“Do _not_ give me another lecture about how I’m tired and sick,” she growled.

“You are tired and sick!” He threw his hands up. “You’re running around day after day as though you haven’t suffered massive brain trauma. You pretend that everything’s fine, and I know it’s not, because you still cry in your sleep. You have no idea who I really am, or who you are, but all you can think of is starting a family. You’re not ready for that.”

“How do you know?” She hissed the words at him, wiping furiously at the tears that had started spilling down her cheeks. “How do you know what I’m ready for?”

“Because I know you,” he said simply. “I know when you’re scared, Donna Noble, and when you’re hiding something from me, and when you want to be left alone.”

“Pity you didn’t take any notice of that last one then.”

“Oh, Donna.” His entire body ached, pain coursing through him as he watched her stand in front of him and cry. “You don’t want to be alone right now. Do you? You want to be loved.”

She hung her head, no longer able to meet his gaze. Her breath was coming in shudders and, as she tried to regain it, he gathered her up in his arms. The sobs came faster; she half-heartedly pushed at him, but he only held onto her all the more strongly.

“And I do. Shhh,” he said softly, his breath warm on her ear. “I do. I do. With all my heart.”

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

He sat beside the bed, cheek resting on his palm as he watched Donna sleep. Silvery pre-dawn light flooded the room, the blood-red streaks growing brighter by the minute.  
  
She’d cried against him for hours the previous night, her fists bunched up in his shirt. It had broken his hearts. Even when she’d finally calmed down, she’d kept sniffling in a way that made him want to wrap her up in his embrace all over again. Eventually she’d fallen asleep, the shaking breaths becoming more and more regular.  
  
She looked far from peaceful though, even now. Her lashes clumped damply together and shadowy bruising had begun to form under her eyes. Every so often she shifted, mumbling nonsensical words under her breath, her fists clenching repeatedly in the blankets. Her curls fell across her face in a way that reminded him not of a grown woman who could argue him into the ground nine ways from Tuesday, but a very young, very fragile, little girl.  
  
No wonder Wilf adored her so.  
  
She tossed her head to one side, frowning slightly in her sleep, the muttering increasing in frequency. He leaned forward, trying to make out the words. Her lips were moving but all he could discern was a plaintive whisper. He reached up, intending to brush her hair away from her eyes, then stopped. A faint psychic pull emanated from her temples, brushing his inner vision with dark stains. Whatever Donna was dreaming wasn’t pleasant.  
  
He pulled his fingers back, not wanting to intrude, but her fidgeting increased. He extended them again, slowly, watching curiously as she stilled slightly. The closer his hand came to her, the quieter she became; when he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, she gave a small sigh and snuggled toward him. He ruffled her hair gently.  
  
The edge of his thumb brushed across her right temple ever so slightly. With a rush of moments, the world began to whirl around him, black and starlight and cold.

 

* * *

  
She was back in the snow.  
  
She knew the suited figure was behind her before it – or he, she thought, it sounded like a he – spoke.  
  
“You have returned.”  
  
She lifted her gaze to the sky. Flurries of snowflakes drifted down, settled on her nose and lashes. She watched them in silence for a long minute before she turned to face the speaker.  
  
“I’m dreaming.”  
  
“You have returned, as was foretold. The DoctorDonna will come, and he will follow.”  
  
“Who? Who’ll follow? You mean John, don’t you?” She squinted into the sun trying to see the speaker, knowing it was fruitless. The voice continued, lilting words that filled her with a sense of calm.  
  
“He is known by many names. You alone will know the truth of them.”  
  
“But he’s the doctor you’re talking about, isn’t he? How do you know me?”  
  
“We are friends to your kind, as you are friends to ours. We protect the DoctorDonna.”  
  
“Protect me? How? And why do you call me that, the doctor’s Donna?”  
  
“Not the Doctor’s, not yet. You are the DoctorDonna, and it is our duty to protect you.” Gloved hands spread before her, palms up. Grey cotton. Familiar. So familiar.  
  
“What are you protecting me from? Who are you?”  
  
“Your song is changing. It is not safe for you any longer.” The figure stepped forward, its cotton hands taking her own. A cool feeling spread through her, liquid gel in her blood. Suddenly the glare broke, pieces falling away like glass from a mirror and she could see. She recoiled, gasping in horror at the face before her. As she turned and ran, she heard its words echo after her.  
  
“We are Oodkind, DoctorDonna. We protect you from yourself.”  
  


* * *

  
Donna’s screams yanked him back from the psychic vision, his eyes snapping open to find her sitting bolt-upright and white as the sheets that covered her. Her hands clutched at his jacket frantically. He wrapped his arms around her, shushing her as he tried to work out what he’d seen. The Ood’s telepathic abilities weren’t strong enough for them to be appearing in Donna’s dreams of their own volition. But for her to have remembered them would mean –  
  
He glanced at her finger. The biodamper was still on. He peered down, wondering whether the recalibrations had somehow failed, then realised that Donna was still clinging onto him tightly enough for his respiratory bypass to have kicked in. Winding a hand up between them, he tried to pry her fingers loose.  
  
“Donna. Donna,” he repeated, as she held on desperately, “Donna! Shhh, I’m here. You were dreaming.”  
  
She made a wretched sobbing noise. He managed to get a grip on her wrists and draw himself back to look her in the eye.  
  
“Donna, come on. It’s alright. I’m here.” Cupping his hands around her face, he pushed the ragged curls from her eyes. “Hey, come on. Look at me. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. It was a nightmare, that’s all.”  
  
Donna rubbed at her eyes, as though the motion might rub out the memory of what she’d seen. The... thing, whatever it said it was called, lingered in front of her, its long pink tentacles reaching toward her. She shuddered, reaching out to John again. His arms encircled her and she shrank down in his embrace.  
  
“There’s my girl. Come on now, it’s alright. What was it?” He ran his hand up and down her back absently. How was Donna seeing the Ood? The dream had felt disturbingly real; Donna’s confusion had seeped into his pores, filling him with an unease that lingered even now. Reading dreams wasn’t the most reliable telepathic method; there was always possible interference from the unconscious mind, but even allowing for that, this hadn’t felt like an ordinary dream. Nor was it memory.  
  
“Tentacles,” Donna murmured, her voice muffled. He feigned ignorance.  
  
“What, an octopus?”  
  
“No.” She all but shouted the word, pulling back from his embrace and glancing around with wild, haunted eyes. “A man. I think. With hands and... tentacles.”  
  
Dawn was flooding the room now, a soft orange glow lighting the corners. Donna took a deep breath, realising for the first time how ridiculous she must sound. She rubbed at her eyes again. They were still puffy from last night and sore to touch. Leaning back, she covered her face with her hands.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Through her fingers, she could see John watching her cautiously. His eyes never left her face, never so much as blinked. Donna exhaled forcefully against her palms. “Really. I’m sorry. What time is it?”  
  
“Five-fourteen,” he said, with the briefest of glances at his watch. “And you have nothing to be sorry for.”  
  
She dragged her hands down her cheeks, and flung the covers off. “Great,” she muttered. “Well I'm not going back to sleep now. Martha can have me early today.”  
  
“Oh, no you don't.” The Doctor pushed her back gently, settling the blanket over her legs once more. “Martha's not having you at all today. You can stay there and get some rest. I'll let them know you won't be in.”  
  
“I've only been there two weeks,” Donna protested. “I can't go having days off already.”  
  
“Donna. He looked at her gravely. “How do you feel, honestly?”  
  
“Pretty rubbish,” she admitted.  
  
“Exactly. You need some rest. Stay here, I'll get you some tea.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Okay?”  
  
“Okay.”

When he left the room, Donna flicked the blankets back again. From where she sat, she could see the last stars slowly fading from the morning sky. She watched the silver glimmers flicker and vanish, one by one, her heart filling with a heavy ache as the minutes ticked on.

 

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

Donna climbed the stairs slowly, the weight of the day pressing down on her. Trying to get through the pre-Christmas paperwork before the practice closed for the holidays had been slightly mental, made all the worse by the headache that had plagued her most of the day. It was still throbbing. She leaned against the terrace's support pole for a moment, letting her eyes drift. They caught the gold lettering on the doorplate, the light above it playing in sparkles along its edges. She stood for a moment, tracing the letters in her mind. 

_Lungbarrow_.

A vague melancholy crept over her as she said the name in her mind. For a second her vision clouded, the sky darkening to an angry purple; the air bristled with static. She blinked and the static dissipated until it was nothing more than a light breeze blowing across her skin. Forcing the unease to the back of her mind, Donna turned the key in the lock. She definitely needed more sleep.

* * *

“Are you sure you're alright?” the Doctor asked for what felt like the fifteenth time that evening. “You're awfully pale.”

“I'm just tired, honestly. Three weeks of continually broken sleep will do that to a person.”

He frowned. “I thought you said the nightmares had stopped.” She'd dreamt of the Ood every night for at least a week solid. He'd adjusted and readjusted the biodamper, until finally the psychic blockers were so strong that even he couldn't penetrate Donna's thoughts when it was on her finger. That was a week and a half ago, and to the best of his knowledge, she hadn't seen them since.

“They have. I just keep waking up. And I _ache_ something fierce,” she added. “Anyway, it's the holidays now, I can sleep all I want. But first, you can - ”

Donna stopped suddenly, staring out the window. 

“What's that?”

“What's what?”

“That, that blue thing.” She pointed down to the far corner of the garden where, under an ancient gnarled willow, the TARDIS sat.

The Doctor froze. She couldn't see it, surely. Nobody should be able to see the TARDIS without actively looking for it, not with the enhancements he'd done to its perception filters. Not unless they were a genius, anyway. “There's nothing there, Donna,” he said carefully, begging her silently not to contradict him.

“I thought... must've been a shadow,” she said quietly. 

“Yeah. Trick of the light. Oh, and.” He patted his pocket, making a show of looking for the psychic paper. “Do me a favour, I've left my glasses upstairs. When does this expire?”

She glanced down at the paper. “Not until February next year. I'll never understand that, all those ID cards you lot have, like you're some top-secret spy firm. You're just a bloody doctor, not MI-5.”

“Mmmm.” Not a genius then, not if the paper still worked. He flipped it shut, thinking furiously. 

“Anyway, play with that later. Are you going to help me with this shopping list or not?”

“What?”

“Shopping list. Ring any bells? It's Christmas in three days and I am _not_ braving the shops again before New Year's. Not for food, at any rate.”

“Right. What've you got then?”

Donna retrieved the list from the chair she'd been sitting in. “Tea, obviously. Milk, chocolate biscuits for Gramps when he comes to visit - ”

“Donna, what’s that?” He snatched the paper from her, holding it up to the light. Along the margin were intricate letters, whorls and loops spelling a name that froze his blood in his veins. 

Gallifrey.

Donna looked over his shoulder. “I dunno. Me getting bored perhaps? Does it matter? It's not going to win me any prizes for artistic talent, I can tell you that.”

The Doctor let go of the list, barely noticing as it fluttered to the floor. He pulled from an inner pocket the black device that Donna thought was a pager, squinting at it for effect. “I – I have to go. Emergency, sorry.” He gave her a swift hug. “Leave the shopping for now. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“Go,” she said, waving him away. “Go fix whoever it is that needs you.” There was a golden glint of pride in her eye, and he knew she was thinking about her doctor husband saving someone's life. He only wished it was deserved. The person who needed him most right now was Donna, and he didn't have the faintest clue how to fix her.

But he was starting to think he knew someone who might.

* * *

The TARDIS shuddered to a stop with only marginal discomfort, which he thought was quite considerate, given the haste with which he'd piloted her. Gathering up his coat, he pelted down the ramp, flung the door open and vaulted off into the snowdrifts.

He wasn't at all surprised to see who awaited him.

“Ood Sigma.” He inclined his head deferentially.

Tne Ood nodded back. “Doctor. I told her you would follow.”

“Yeah," he drew the word out. "About that. How are you appearing in Donna's dreams? And why? She's nothing to do with the Ood.”

“We protect the DoctorDonna. Her song is changing. She is becoming you.”

“That's not an answer.” 

There was a dangerous sparkle in his eye, and Ood Sigma clasped his hands together, lowering his gaze. “It is all the answer we may give, Doctor. The remainder of what you seek lies in her name.”

“Donna? What? What about her name?”

“Her name is changing also. She is no longer Donna; she is the DoctorDonna. We think you know this.”

“Ood Sigma.” The Doctor breathed through gritted teeth, forcing himself to remain calm. “She isn't the DoctorDonna, not now. I had to take that from her. I'll have to do it again if she remembers. Now, I think you know how to help her, so please. Tell me.”

“The time when you could help her has passed. She is becoming you now.”

“What do you _mean_?” he cried. “She can't _become_ me, I'm a Time Lord. You don't just become - ”

“You were not born a Time Lord.”

The whole world came to a sudden stop around him and, for a second, the Doctor stared once more into the heart of the void. A hundred million stars twinkled at him as he realised what he was saying. Ood Sigma blinked patiently.

“No. No, no, no! She can't. You're wrong.” 

He spun in the snow frantically, grasping after the imperfect memories of a child, all the while muttering to himself. “She's a _human_. She has human molecular genetics. Even if she did survive the assimilation of all that knowledge, her body would still die.” He locked eyes with the Ood again. “I can stem the flow of knowledge, you know that. I've done that. But I can't make her a Gallifreyan. If this continues, if I can't completely stop the Time Lord mind from melding with hers, she'll die.”

“You do not need to stop anything. We protect the DoctorDonna. Her actions began this. Your part is yet to come.” 

“Then I can save her? How? Tell me, how?”

“You will know when the time arrives.” 

Ood Sigma turned his back on the Doctor and began walking slowly down the snow-covered hill, his ears deaf to the screams that echoed after him.

* * *

Donna was still awake when he got home, tucked up on the couch with a blanket and a box of tissues. Her skin was flushed bright pink, her eyes glassy. He ran a hand over her forehead, still frustrated about the Ood's secrecy, though relieved that at least one thing made sense now. He didn't remember aching but the fever he'd had in his first month at the Academy had been high enough to confine him to bed for over a week. Donna leaned into his touch.

“You're cold. And late.”

“No sweetheart,” he said. “You're hot. You've got a fever. But you're right, I am late. I'm sorry.”

“S'okay.” She blinked, attempting to focus sleepy eyes on him. “Everything alright? You look shattered.”

He shrugged. “Bad night.”

“Poor love.” She tucked her knees up closer to her chest, motioning toward the end of the couch. “Sit with me?”

“Of course.” He sat gingerly, sliding underneath her legs so that they lay across his lap. She smiled, twitching her toes slightly. He covered them over with the blanket, tucking it around her to keep her warm. “How do you feel?”

“Bit achy, but I’ll live. It’s probably just a cold. Which is to be expected really; you’re a doctor, you probably bring home all sorts of nasties.”

He pretended shock. “So this is my fault? I’ll have you know, Donna Noble, that I don’t see patients with _colds_.”

“Of course you don’t.” She patted his cheek. “How could I forget? My clever husband, the brain surgeon, is far too important for a trifling cold.”

“Indeed,” he huffed, crossing his arms. She laughed at that, and poked him in the ribs until he uncrossed them and wrapped them around her.

“D’you want to tell me about tonight?” She laid her head on his shoulder, lacing a hand into his, and he shook his head quickly. His hearts thumped painfully in his chest, doubling and tripling their speed as the fingers of her free hand ran up and down his forearm.

“No. I’d rather forget about tonight, actually.” He sighed deeply, letting his head drop until it rested on hers. The faintest hint of vanilla wafted up, filling his senses. For a moment, he closed his eyes, forgetting who they were, why they were. For a moment, she was just Donna, snuggled under his arm, the perfect fit. And he loved her. She tilted her head up, kissed the underside of his jaw softly. He could feel the feverish heat emanating from her skin, and he desperately tried to concentrate on that, to remind himself that she wasn’t well, she didn’t need him falling for her now. But her lips glistened with a soft pink sheen and her feather light touches were maddening; she was no longer Donna, she was just his. Without thinking he leant forward, pressing his mouth to hers. And she yielded beneath him, sighing into the kiss, snaking her arms around his neck to pull him down to meet her.

He felt the next few minutes pass in fragments, watching himself as if from another room. Donna’s hands, twisting in his hair. The curve of her neck as she arched up to meet him, strands of silken flame falling over her shoulders. The awkward tenderness of his fingers as they cupped her face. When the tip of her tongue flicked out slightly and caught his own, his breath caught in his lungs. Her fingers moved down, dancing from his neck to his chest, flicking open the buttons, her nails catching ever so slightly on his skin. He gasped against her, revelling in the way her hands felt on his skin, the way her head tipped back as she caught her breath, murmuring into the shell of his ear.

“ _Please._ ”

The charade splintered. The room and the romance, all of it vanished, leaving him with her unconscious body in his arms, a red-headed rag doll. He scrambled backwards, breathing heavily.

“What? What’s wrong?” Donna sat up quickly, her cheeks even pinker than before. Stains of his sin returning to haunt him.

“I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” He stood, the blanket that had covered her slipping to pool at his feet. Donna reached out for the corner, tugging it into her lap.

“Why? What have I done?”

“Nothing. You haven’t done anything, it’s me. I shouldn’t be... I’m – ” He gestured helplessly. “This isn’t right,” he finished. “You should at least know who I am.”

“But I do,” she said, frowning. “You’re my husband, and I love you. What else do I need to know?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Donna, please. I’m not – we can’t – ”

“You always do this.” Donna’s voice was quiet, her eyes ice chips in porcelain snow. “You pull away at the last minute, make up some excuse. You say you love me then refuse to touch me. Why? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” he said again, but she was standing now, her hands wrapped around his wrists.

“Were we happy? Before the accident, were we happy?”

He swallowed, trying not to think of the way she’d smiled at every new destination or her infectious laughter. “We were so happy.”

“Then what changed?” She bit nervously at her bottom lip. “I’m still me. Don't you want me?”

His stomach heaved at those words, the pain behind them cutting him through. “Of course I do,” he whispered.

“Then kiss me.” She was standing up on her toes, her nose barely an inch from his. 

“I can’t.”

“Why?” she cried, frustration tearing at the edges of her words, and he hung his head, hating himself for the answer he couldn’t prevent.

“Because you’re _not_ you.”

“Then who am I?” She glared at him for a long moment and then, as a small sob forced its way from her, she turned and fled the room.

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

She was curled on her side staring at the wedding ring, turning it over and over between her fingers. He stepped into the room gingerly, afraid of what she might do, but she hardly even glanced at him before returning her attention to the golden band. His stomach knotting with guilt, he knelt down beside the bed.

“Donna. Sweetheart, please. Look at me.”

She did. And he almost wished she hadn’t. Twin stars of betrayal glittered from an otherwise blank expression.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You might not want to believe me right now, but I do love you, you have to know that.” She said nothing, and he continued. “I just want you to know who I am, properly know. You might change your mind.” It was an attempt at humour, but all he managed was a choking sob in place of a laugh.

“I do know who you are. Or I did. That might have jogged my memory.”

He shook his head without thinking. “No, we never – ” 

He broke off but it was too late. Donna’s eyebrow was slightly raised, and he knew she understood exactly what he’d been about to say.

“We never did. I know.” She sighed, the breath ripping its way through her, leaving a cold numbness in its wake. “I remember you, I’m sure I do. But you’re not my husband, are you?”

His eyes dripped with guilt as he looked up at her. “No,” he whispered, feeling his hearts break as he said it. “No, I’m not.”

“But I promised you forever, didn’t I? Even if it wasn’t a wedding.”

“You did.”

“And you love me.” It wasn’t a question but her eyes searched his for an answer anyway.

“More than I can say.”

“Are you in love with me?”

He whitened even as she watched him, tiny beads of moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. His tongue darted out briefly, wetting his lips; it was something he always did when he was nervous, and she bit the side of her lip, sure she wasn’t going to like the answer. “No, never mind,” she said quickly, letting her gaze fall away from him, but he answered at the same time.

“Yes.”

“What?” Her eyes widened as she looked back at him, sure she imagined the word.

“Yes. I didn’t before you – before, when you knew me, we were friends. Best friends, and I loved you, of course I did. But I took you for granted. And now, having you here with me, like this…” He paused, searching for words he knew he didn’t possess. “I haven’t been this happy in a long time, Donna. Every second I spend with you, I remember how much I missed you when you were gone. You’re beautiful and wonderful, and so much more than I deserve. I know you don’t see that, you never have. And I wish I could show you, because every time you look at me, or smile at me, you break my heart all over again.”

Donna’s breath caught in her throat. Her mind reeled, wondering how she of all people could inspire such words in anyone. She looked down at the man on his knees in front of her, a gentle, wonderful man with eyes full of regret and sorrow and love. Puppy dog eyes. Eyes she’d seen before. She knew it. Just as she knew he was telling the truth. 

“I feel like I’ve waited a lifetime for you.”

“You have.” Getting to his feet, he perched on the edge of the bed beside her. “You waited and you found me. You trusted me with your life and I wasn’t careful enough with it.” He took her hand in his, watching her carefully. “I am so sorry. I wish, with all my heart, that I could fix this for you.”

A tiny spark flared in her mind, a flicker of blue light she was barely aware of. She brought her free hand up to his face, stroked the side of his cheek, still not sure she wasn’t dreaming this. “Tell me who you were. Tell me something about you.”

He smiled, a small grin but one that dissipated some of the sadness from his eyes. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like how you hate peas. Something ordinary. Tell me... about your family. Your school.”

“School?” He frowned, thinking back. “I went to a school called the Academy.”

“Private school? No surprise there.”

“Boarding school, actually. My mother was so upset when I had to leave. But proud as well,” he added, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He could still remember the light that had shone through the tears in her violet-blue eyes when he’d hugged her goodbye. “So proud.”

“I bet she was,” Donna said, smiling. He returned it, his gaze mild and in the back of her mind she saw those same eyes. His eyes, but younger. Blue shirt. Windblown hair. A wedding ring on her finger. She shook the image from her mind wearily, and was about to prompt him further when she sneezed suddenly.

“Bless you,” he laughed, passing a tissue. “I was sick at school, you know. The first month I was there.”

“I’m surprised you’re not sick now,” she said, sniffling a bit, “what with me kissing you and all. Mum was always on at me about that. Sharing bodily fluids, easiest way to catch something.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. It’ll take a bit more than a sneeze or a kiss to make me sick.” He stroked her hair back from her face. Her skin felt clammy, hotter than before, and he wondered whether there was anything in the TARDIS that might help. He tried again to remember what the nurse at the Academy had done for him so many years ago. “I was one of the worst cases,” he said, as much to himself as to Donna. “They... they gave us injections.” Memories filtered back into his mind, a slow, steady drip of words and images. “It was supposed to help.”

“What, like an immunisation?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I can’t really remember. Everyone always got sick anyway.” He pressed his fingers to the juncture of her jaw and neck, feeling her pulse racing just under the skin. “Are you sure you still feel alright? Your heart’s racing.”

She shrugged. “Like I said, achy but bearable.”

The Doctor fished about in his trouser pocket, drawing out a stethoscope. Donna rolled her eyes. “Do you carry that everywhere?”

“Shhh. Lie back and let me listen.” He pushed the edge of her blouse over slightly, placing the round metal disc above her right breast, and listened.

Her heartbeat was normal.

He pulled back, examining her at arms length. Aside from the pink flush to her cheeks, she looked fine. A little pale, perhaps, but Donna was always pale. He pressed a hand to her forehead; the clamminess was fading already, though her skin was still hot to touch. He returned his fingers to her pulse point. It was at least double what he had heard. He tapped the end of the stethoscope and pressed it to her chest again. Normal. And then he heard a tiny voice at the back of his mind.

_She is becoming you now._

He straightened, his eyes scanning her body quickly, and slowly moved the stethoscope four inches to the left.

“Wrong side,” Donna said, but her words vanished into the air as his ears caught the faint but regular beating of a heart.

A second heart.

And he heard the echo of words he’d spoken nine hundred years earlier.

_“What are you looking for?”_

_“Shh, Theta, and let me listen. There!” The elderly man smiled down at him, a reassuring smile, as he removed the plugs from his ears. He passed them to the dark-haired boy who lay in the bed before him. “Put them in your ears, that’s right. Now listen.”_

_Pressing gently, he placed the round disc over the boy’s right lung, then his left. “Do you hear that?” he asked._

_The boy nodded, his eyes wide._

_“That’s why you’ve been so sick. You’re special, Theta. You are what we call a Chronarch. A Time Lord.” The man removed the plugs of the stethescope, winding up the cord they were attached to, and slipped it into the pocket of his long white coat. “All Gallifreyans have two hearts, but not all of them can use both. Most of us will only ever need the one, and the second remains undeveloped. Much like your appendix.”_

_“I had my appendix out!” Theta exclaimed, and the man laughed._

_“Yes. And you are none the worse for it, I assure you. But your heart, now that’s different. For a Time Lord, his second heart is the difference between life and death.” He paused for a moment, regarding the child before him. “Do you know about the Untempered Schism?”_

_He nodded. “That’s the void,” he pronounced solemnly, his eyes wise with knowledge far beyond his eight years._

_“Yes, it is sometimes called that. An ordinary Gallifreyan cannot look into the Schism and survive. But you, and the other Chronarchs, you will look into its depths and the entirety of the universe will spread out before you. You will see everything, feel everything, and your second heart will protect you. It gives your body the strength to do this.”_

_Theta regarded him curiously. “But how does the second heart develop in the first place?”_

_“It is a byproduct of a molecular reaction. Have you heard of antibodies?”_

_He shook his head._

_“An antibody is a protein that your body manufactures in response to illness. When you are sick, these antibodies produce cells that fight the illness for you, and then, when you recover, these cells remain so that the next time you contract the disease, your body can fight it in advance. There is a particular type of antibody that stimulates the growth and function of your second heart. Without it, your heart would remain in its primitive form, like any other Gallifreyan.”_

_Theta frowned. “Then... my heart grew because I’ve been sick?”_

_“Exactly.” The doctor – he must have been a doctor, Theta decided – smiled at him._

_“Is that why they gave me an injection?”_

_“Ahhh,” the man said. “Not quite. You see, in order to produce the antibodies, you must contract the illness. It isn’t like a cold, you can’t just catch it. The injections – you will have several of them in the end – release a controlled amount of the virus into your body, just enough to produce the antibodies that will stimulate your heart’s growth. Think of a plant. You must water it many times before it will grow.”_

“Doctor?” Donna’s voice brought him back to reality. He looked down at his hand, covered by hers, still holding the stethoscope to her chest. She was watching him with a bemused expression. “Anyone in there?”

Flustered, he nodded. “Yes, yes. I... let me listen again?”

She withdrew her hand quickly, and he moved the device left to right again, holding two fingers to her pulse point as he did so. The second heart was slowing.

_You must water it many times._

He had been given multiple injections.

_You were not born a Time Lord._

_Her actions began this. Your part is yet to come._

_Sharing bodily fluids, easiest way to catch something._

His Donna, his wonderful, beautiful, _perfect_ Donna. Changing. Becoming like him. Her fledgling heart struggled under his fingers, desperate for the antibodies that would propel its growth.

Words, images, scenarios unravelled in his mind, a thousand what if’s and maybe’s rushing by as the pieces fell into place. He remembered the way she’d looked at him in the TARDIS on their last night together, tears spilling down her cheeks as she’d begged him. _Don’t make me go back._. He remembered her voice, soft on the other end of a phone on the planet Midnight, the warmth of her hugs when he’d done something particularly Time Lord-y. The brilliant smile that had lit up her face when she’d seen him through the window of Miss Foster’s office. The sadness that had unconsciously slipped into her voice when she’d told him no the first time they’d met.

The utter sincerity when she said ‘I love you’.

He flung his arms around her, hardly daring to think he might have an answer. She wriggled in his grasp.

“What are you – ” 

He cut her words off, drawing her up in his arms, kissing her fiercely. “Donna Noble, I love you. I want you to remember that. There’s never been anyone like you. So you remember that. And,” he dropped to his knees once more, taking her hand, “if you’ll still speak to me once all this is over, I will give you that forever.”

The corners of her mouth twitched slightly. “Silly prawn,” she murmured, ruffling the hair that hung over his forehead. “Why wouldn’t I speak to you?”

His mouth moved, but no words formed, and she brought a finger up to rest against his lips. “I wanted this,” she said gently. “I know that. I might not remember you, but I love you. Never doubt that.”

She leaned forward, replacing the finger with her lips, and this time it was him who surrendered. This time, when her fingers found his buttons, he didn’t pull away.

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

Donna shivered as his fingertips traced her skin, touches as soft and tender as the eyes that had so often looked into hers. Slowly, maddeningly, he delivered kisses to her collarbone, the tips of her fingers, her sternum, each one placed particularly, a gift to a goddess. His thumbs brushed along the sides of her ribcage, gently, far too gently. She tightened her arms, drawing him closer; the flare of blue in her mind grew into flames of ice and crystal. She could hear her own voice in her ears, speaking across eternity.

“Please. Oh, please.”

And there he was, looking into her eyes once more, his palm cradled around her jaw. Her heart throbbed in her mouth as she gave herself up to him, gasping, her vision shot through with flashes of blue and purple and silver. A thousand images, a hundred thousand, racing through her mind. Starlight exploding behind her eyes, rolls of distant thunder echoing in her blood.

“Doctor,” she breathed.

“Donna.” His lashes fluttered against her cheek, his lips forming her name against her own. He made it sound beautiful.

“No.” She nuzzled against his ear, tried again when his eyes met hers. “ _Doctor._ My Doctor.” Her heart – or actually, hearts, she realised – skittered with joy at the word. “I remember you. I remember everything.”

His eyes flew open, flooded first with astonishment, then joy, then... fear. His feathery fingers stopped their movement against her skin, suddenly awkward. He tried to shift away but she was faster, winding an arm around his neck, pulling him back to her. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

Her voice in his ears was half happiness, half wonder. “You’re – you’re not angry then?” he asked, holding his breath. 

“No, you daft git. Did I not tell you that I loved you?” Donna arched up, kissing him swiftly, delighted at the silly smile that was working its way across his face.

“Really?”

“Really,” she nodded, feeling her grin stretch in response to his.

“Oh, that’s... that’s brilliant!” he exclaimed, and she laughed. His arms gathered her up tightly and the laughter became squeals he flipped her up, over, settling her back down on his chest. Curtains of molten fire hung down over his face; the room shrank until there was just her eyes, golden dancers on a turquoise sea, and her smile. Her beautiful smile. 

“Brilliant, eh?” she murmured, tapping her finger lightly on his nose. “I’ve so missed that.”

He pressed another kiss to her lips, wondering if he’d ever get sick of doing so. “You’ll never miss it again, I promise.”

She snuggled into the crook of his arm, her fingers playing along the fine hairs at the back of his neck. “How?” she asked softly. “How did you bring me back?”

He lifted his head slightly, tucked her hair in behind one ear and kissed her forehead. It was cool now, cooler than any human’s had a right to be. Just that thought was enough to bring the grin back in full force.

“I didn’t,” he said, “not really. This has been happening since the metacrisis. I should have realised sooner. The differences between Gallifreyan and human DNA are negligible. It’s what happens at the Academy that makes us Time Lords. I just never thought... The Ood helped.”

She gasped. “The Ood! I dreamed about them.” A brilliant spark flared in her mind again, washing her vision with musical blue and she recognised it at last. The Oodbrain. She sent it a mental thank you, knowing instinctively that this would be the last time she felt it within her mind. A gentle flurry of warmth ran through her. A goodbye.

“They did what I couldn’t. The Ood protected you. Your body, in its human state, could never have processed the knowledge from your Time Lord mind. The raw force of the Untempered Schism.” He recalled the elderly doctor who had tended him during his sickness. “Every Gallifreyan had two hearts, you know. But a Time Lord could actively use his second, whereas the others couldn’t. Only, in order to do so, he had to suffer an illness, a catalyst to make the second heart function.”

Realisation lit Donna’s eyes. “That’s why I was sick.”

He nodded. “The Ood told me your actions began your change. I thought they meant when you touched the hand, but they really meant when you kissed me. I had that illness. I carry the antibodies. When they entered your bloodstream, your heart – your second heart – reacted. Grew. That’s why the biodamper –well, not biodamper, I had to change it a bit – that’s why it stopped working.” He glanced down, and her eyes followed his to the golden band on her finger. “While the Time Lord mind existed simply as dormant knowledge, the biodamper could stop it from melding with yours. But once that catalyst was enabled - ”

“It couldn’t block something that was within me,” she finished.

“Exactly. It uses cognitive power, not biochemistry. I thought it was doing what it was supposed to; I’d upped it to a level where it was almost blocking my own ability to pick up on telepathic emanations. Which,” he rubbed the back of his hand against his chin thoughtfully, “is probably how I missed the Ood’s brain signature. Because they were the ones preventing your absorption of the Schism’s full power, by acting as a buffer between it and you. At least, until your second heart had had the chance to properly develop.”

“And as it grew, they pulled back,” Donna said, her eyes shining with the knowledge she once again had access to. “So it looked like I was remembering.”

“You really are brilliant.” The Doctor tightened his arms around her briefly, hoping the squeeze would tell her everything he couldn’t find the words for. She grinned.

“I know. Now tell me – husband? Seriously?” She raised an eyebrow.

He flopped back against the pillow. “You too? That’s the first thing Martha asked me. And your mother.” 

“Well, you’ve got – God!” she exclaimed. “I’d forgotten about my mother. She’s going to kill you.”

“No, she’s not. She loves me,” he said with a wink. “And she’ll love me even more when I tell her that I’ve brought her real daughter back.”

“She might. So long as you don’t just dump me there and take off again, Spaceman.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He pulled her close for another kiss, and she smiled against his lips.

“I’ll bet she didn’t love you when you said we were married. Really, of all the possible scenarios, why on _earth_ would you choose that one? Did you not think I might realise, given my track record in relationships?” 

“Only way I could think of to keep you with me all the time,” he replied. “Anyway, you did a pretty good job of remembering our wedding on the rooftop.”

She blushed ever so slightly. “Well. I did think about you an awful lot after that day.”

“Aha!” he cried, affecting a smug grin. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“Prawn.” She cocked her head to the side, drinking in his smile, his freckles, the chocolate brown eyes that stared at her in adoration. The tiniest twinge of disbelief ran through her that this man, with everything he’d seen and done and been, could possibly love her. Choose her, Donna Noble, a temp from Chiswick, out of every possible someone in the universe.

“Come on now,” he whispered. “None of that.”

“Are you reading my mind?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“No. No need. I’ve seen that look before, with Lance.” He ran his hands through her hair, pushing it back from her eyes. “Forget him,” he said softly. “You’re beautiful. Wonderful. Magnificent. And I love you.”

“Flatterer.” But her eyes softened slightly, and she laid her head back down on his chest with a small sigh of contentment. She stayed like that, listening to his hearts beating, for a long moment. And then lifted her head.

“Doctor?”

“Mmm?”

“The injections they gave you at the Academy. Were they blood?”

“No, of course not. They were like any immunisation; biologically manufactured organisms containing the virus, which would give us a small, survivable, dose.”

“So... you could have ‘biologically manufactured’ some for me, then?” Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

“I supp – Donna Noble!” She burst into peals of laughter, and he couldn’t help but chuckle in response. “I didn’t see you complaining, though.”

“Nor will you,” she said, flashing a saucy grin. “Ever.” And as she snuggled against his side once more, she laced her fingers through his and whispered “I love you, too.”

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

The music faded into gentle oblivion as Donna took her place, her skirts rustling around her feet. Casting a brief glance to her left, she caught sight of her mother and grandfather; Wilf sat as straight as a rod, his smile stretched from one ear to the other. Sylvia had all but abandoned any pretence of decorum in favour of sniffling into her handkerchief. Tears welled up in her own eyes in response and she blinked them away hurriedly, her hand finding that of the man that stood beside her.

She felt his fingers grasp hers, followed by a gentle presence in her mind, a soft breeze of reassurance as the celebrant began.

“We are gathered here today...”

The Doctor let the words wash over him. Donna’s fingers were cool in his, her thoughts erratic as he drifted through them. If he concentrated, he could feel the double pulse of the Time Lords echoing through her blood, a tiny flutter more beautiful than anything he could have possibly imagined. Over her shoulder he caught a glimpse of movement.

“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

Wilf stepped forward, taking Donna’s left hand. As he did, she slipped her right one out of the Doctor’s grasp, leaving a hollow sensation in its wake. He barely had time to miss it though; a strong, callused hand encircled his, and Wilf grinned broadly as he lay Donna’s hand on top of the Doctor’s. “I do.”

“Then the bride is given away.” The man at the altar turned to him. His hearts doubled their speed as he heard the next words, so familiar but utterly foreign.

“Do you, Doctor Smith, take Donna Noble for your lawful wedded wife, to love, and to honour, to comfort and cherish her from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto her for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” His hearts swelled as he spoke the words, and Donna’s mind erupted in his as she was asked the same question, repeated the same answer, a furious whirl of red and gold and silver stars. Somehow, without his eyes leaving hers, he managed to take the ring Jack offered.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” and her eyes twinkled as she said _biodamp_ in his mind. He swallowed the lump in his throat as memories of the rooftop flooded back. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honour, and cherish, 'til death do us part.” The band slipped down onto her finger with the slightest push, sparkling delicately.

As Donna turned to take the matching ring from Martha, she heard his silent words in her thoughts. _I love you, you know._

 _I should hope so, or else we’ll have a lot of explaining to do in a minute_ , she quipped, trying to work out what the mental equivalent of a smile was. She must have managed, because when she turned back, she saw a familiar glint of gold in the chocolate pools of his eyes. Communication by telepathy was still something she was trying to get used to; the rapid flow of information between her psycho-neural synapses left her breathless. She felt things slowing around her, like an old movie, whenever she attempted to speak mind to mind. This time was no exception. _I love you too, you prawn. Do you think I’d be standing here if I didn’t?_

His laugh resonated through her. _No, I suppose not._ Then his thoughts stilled and the room broke into life around her once again. She spoke aloud, repeating words she’d never dreamed she’d say as images raced through her mind; of this wedding, her wedding to Lance, the timelines that might have been and never could be. “With this ring, I thee wed. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse...”

Her voice cracked slightly. She could feel the phantom fabric of a jacket on her shoulders, hear the wheeze of the exhausted TARDIS once more. His mind reached out to hers, blanketing her in love. Swallowing hard, she continued.

“For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honour, and cherish, 'til death do us part.”

Her mother was sobbing audibly now. The celebrant spoke again. “Having declared by the giving and receiving of a ring, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may seal the promises you have made to each other with a kiss.”

His arms wrapped around her, drawing her in safe and secure. As his lips pressed gently against her own, she felt the throb of the universe slowing again, the brush of his mind against her own. She pushed back at it softly in response, the need for words momentarily sated. When she finally spoke, it was hushed pastels that echoed through him.

_Thank you. A million times, thank you. I never believed I’d honestly be standing here._

His lips curved against hers. _I promised you a happy ending, didn’t I?_

 _And I promised you forever,_ she agreed. _So we both seem to have won._

 _Oh, no_ , he murmured in her thoughts as he pulled her ever so slightly closer. _No, I definitely won this._

Their bodies, so slow when compared to their minds, melded together perfectly at his words. Donna dreamed her arms making their way up his spine, her neck arching just so as he deepened the kiss, claiming her for his own, forever. _Forever._ The word spun through her mind, ducking between his thoughts and hers, burrowing into a memory in the very depths of her mind. Flares of blue suddenly shot through the pale swirls.

_Donna?_

_I forgot!_ She soothed his thoughts with her own. _The Ood, the last time they were here – they told me a word. A name._

_A name?_

_My name. They said you sought it. They said you’d know what it meant._ And she repeated the sounds they had taught her, slowly, a sibilant stream that wrapped around his being even as she spoke it.

Donna’s mind filled with golden warmth, buttery streams of light that threaded down her into her core, entwining with the rosy ribbons that accompanied his next words.

 _Eternal_. He spoke with reverence. _They knew. It’s Gallifreyan; it means eternal. It was the word I saw when I looked into the void. Picked out in the light of a thousand stars, swirling at the heart of time and space. My destiny. Your name._

And then there was cold, the space where he’d been taken by air and the applause of their friends. _Eternal_. She heard the word stretching, echoing through her. As the applause continued, she reached for his hand, conscious of the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

The Doctor glanced over at Donna as she threaded her fingers into his. She shone in the afternoon light that streamed through the arched church windows, pink and gold and copper. She was radiant. Magnificent. His. Grasping her hand, he spun her in towards him, catching her deftly around the back with his free arm. Applause erupted once more as he swept her up off her feet and into another kiss. 

As the floor dropped away, Donna felt her blood singing to the beat of the universe. Deep within herself she felt a quiver, the tiniest flutter of dove wings, a breeze across satin. The first hesitant beats of tiny double hearts. Her thoughts whirled as she tightened her grip on the man who held her, words surfacing in the golden light that still filled her mind. Their vow. Her name. Eternity, for better or for worse.

_fin._


End file.
